


Keeping Arnold: Or, How to Get Disowned

by Lachesism



Category: Hey Arnold!
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Drama, F/F, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Inspired by Music, M/M, Music, Other, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Teen Years, Ten Years Later, Tragedy, Unresolved Romantic Tension, dark night of the soul
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 21:21:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7331095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lachesism/pseuds/Lachesism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helga Pataki must confront the ghosts of the past in their most literal form. Class discussions prove an insufficient distraction. A coffee date ends in the worst possible way. A plan is hinted at, and agreed upon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: Conditional Wretch

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I started this story two years ago. I posted it to fanfiction.net where it had a pretty good pool of readers; though the Hey Arnold! community on AO3 is smaller than ff.net the readership seems to be much more current and active. So, I present to you, the refined, cleaned up, and (nearly) completed work.
> 
> The story picks up ten years after Arnold left following the theoretical events in The Jungle Movie, assuming he found his parents and stayed with them. This story is rated M for mature themes, events, and descriptions.
> 
> I am happy to hear your feedback! This is my first (and only) fanfic, so I live and thrive off your comments and kudos.
> 
> By the way, all art for this story is by this magnificent individual: http://demonbones.tumblr.com/

"Remembrance of things past is not necessarily the remembrance of things as they were." – Marcel Proust

* * *

"You should have come back sooner, Football Head," Helga said with sincerity. Ten years was a long time. So much had changed, their friends had grown up and moved away and changed; the class they shared together as kids in PS118 was gone. Helga was still best friends with Phoebe Heyerdahl, and of course was in her band with Brainy, but the rest had all scattered out and across Hillwood in high school or shortly after.

Arnold looked at her, feeling as guilty as he had the time he read from her pink book out loud to the rest of their friends on the school stoop. He had missed his friends, all of them, terribly. But all of that guilt was useless inside him, empty emotional calories that he could do nothing about now.

"Why didn't you write me back?" Arnold searched Helga's face for something, his question hopeful but quiet. Arnold had kept his promise at first, writing her once a month without missing even one letter. Helga read them all, touching each line of her beloved's thoughtfully composed letters and keeping them in a big box she decorated with her pink ribbon - the one he liked so much - and marked it "Important."

Over time, though, his letters started to come less and less, and then finally they stopped. Helga knew she was part of the reason.

"I wrote you back once," she said sourly, arching one of her strong eyebrows up and crossing her arms under her chest protectively. She always felt naked in front of him, terribly visible, somehow even more so now that he was back.

"'Hello Football Head, don't get killed in the jungle. Regards, Helga.' That's what you wrote to me, 'Regards, Helga.' What was that?" Arnold bitterly recited her pithy letter from memory back at her in its entirety. Helga winced with every word.

Of course, she wanted to write him back. She wanted to write him _every day._ She had stacks of letters, actually, boxes and boxes of them written, each of them confessing in a new and special way all of her desires, all of her feelings for him and wishing him every happiness. All of them remained unsent, and up until Big Bob and Miriam divorced after she graduated, the boxes were in her old closet. Now they sat in storage, a library of her love for him, long since packed away.

"Well what was I supposed to say?" That was part sarcastic Helga, part sincere question. "You found your family, you got what you wanted. And _we were ten_."

"I told you how I felt, what happened?"

"Criminy, I just said what happened. _You found your family._ I was a ten year old girl you thought you had a crush on because I helped you find said family. You probably didn't even mean what you said - and what was I supposed to do, ask you to come back or something? Because, duh, we were ten years old."

"I meant what I said, Helga." Arnold's voice was quiet, but she could hear the anger in his voice. She remembered when he sounded like that the last time, right before their confrontation on the FTi building.

"Yeah, well, Bucko, that's all old history now," she lied. He had no idea how much it meant to her that he was back. She felt like dying every time he looked at her. The fact that he was upset with her tortured her.

"Is it? Dammit, Helga." Arnold's snarl of frustration was genuine.

She jumped when he cursed her name, flinching like she was just pricked by a sharp needle. He'd never cussed before! She'd never heard it before anyway, and the first time she ever did, her name filled his mouth with it. She tried to show how little she cared with a disdainful curl of her lip, but it took all of her effort. She squeezed her own rib cage hard, protectively.

"Are we done here?" She finally managed to ask. Arnold just looked at her for half a beat, shook his head, and then stood up from their table. Helga's heart was dropping into her stomach, terrified he would walk out that cafe door and out of her life forever.

"Arnold, wai-" She started to say, but Arnold held up a hand to silence her, turning slightly so he could face her.

"I'm going to step outside to get a bit of fresh air. When I come back I want you to talk to me truthfully. I know you have something else to say, and I'm going to hear it before I leave Hillwood"

 _Before he leaves?_ Helga's mind raced, a bolt of white panic settling down like molten lead in her guts, making her sick to her stomach. She wanted to throw up. _When is he leaving again? How much time do I have?_ She didn't respond to his silent, questioning look. He was waiting for her to speak. She just looked up at him helplessly, her eyebrows high and her mouth pursed in fear. He seemed to wince when he processed her expression, and then finally turned to walk out of the door.

The door chime jingled once, and he was out the door into the late summer haze.

Helga's head lowered into the bare comfort of her hands, and she tried to find the world beneath her that had just rushed away.

_Why is he leaving me again?_

* * *

Helga stood from her seat in the lecture hall, shouldering her pink and black canvas messenger bag and grumbling to herself in a private monologue on her way out the door.

 _Criminy. Idiot professor. Of_ _course_ _the Bronte sisters don't represent a terribly huge stride forward in feminist thought for their time, but_ _damn_ _it all if they weren't successful women authors! Fucking male women's studies professors!_

Helga's disagreement with her Women's Studies professor stemmed from a lot of things, mostly a difference in personality, but Helga couldn't help but suspect it was because she wore a lot of pink. And it was _her choice_ to wear pink, she _liked_ pink. She didn't wear it to impress anyone!

 _Almost anyone._ She thought bitterly. She remembered that _he_ had liked pink too, specifically pink on _her._ For that alone she felt like maybe her professor had a point, but her Pataki genetic predisposition to catastrophic stubbornness did now allow her to ever say it out loud. As it stood, she was still the professor's favorite student partially for her enthusiasm for the subject and also the fact that Helga seemed to be _exhaustively_ well read. Most of the students in the 101-level class simply copied notes down and asked questions; Helga challenged her professor, often. So even though this was a common occurrence, and Helga would stomp out of the lecture hall with her bag wrenched tight in white-knuckled fury, she had the highest grade in the class.

That hardly calmed the stormy sea of her anger though.

Her temper was still legendary; most of the incoming Freshman to the University gave her a wide berth after, on Greek Day, a foolish prospective Fraternity freshman attempted to catcall her for image and prestige. She was a likely target for that kind of thing; Helga had grown into the same enviable Pataki body that Olga was blessed with. And even though her strong eyebrows and nearly perpetual frown turned a lot of people off, Helga's bold style of dress, powerful and athletic build she maintained well in the gym and batting cages, and glorious tumble of nearly hip-length blonde hair made her seem like a walking Valkyrie, an image she was proud of and cultivated. And yet despite the intimidating figure she cut physically, she kept her hair in pigtails most days - not today - and wore a lot of pink flannel. It gave the false impression that she was _approachable_. Soft. So it was that the unfortunate soul, who in his misogynistic baseness thought it would earn him a few brownie points with his prospective brothers, called out to her that day.

Not only did he not get into the Frat he wanted, but he dropped out of school after she corrected the number of teeth he thought he should have. It turns out, Helga asserted with her fist, he needed a few less.

So it was that Helga's powerful, obviously disgruntled stride was given a wide berth by the rest of the student body. With her eyes cast to the ground in a scowl, she could only just make out in her periphery that there was one figure stubbornly remaining in the trajectory she was on to her next class. Growling to herself, she walked _faster_ , not about to alter her course for some box turtle of a Freshman that didn't know what was coming.

Her blue eyes flashed up suddenly and she felt her heart do a terrible flip inside her chest when he turned around right as she ran into him, toppling them both over in a collection of tall limbs and unique hair.

"Geez, anybody get the number of that _freight train?_ " He grumbled."Not even for insurance purposes, I have a _complaint._ " She heard him groan as he rolled off her to get up. She lay right where she fell under him, gripping the concrete with her hands and a look of absolute terror on her face.

Arnold Shortman rolled onto his heels, rubbing his arm where she ran into him, and looked into her eyes for the first time in ten years.

"Helga?" He blinked twice, his face a mix of something she couldn't recognize.

Her mouth was dry with panic, so she licked her lips and tried to swallow. All she could manage was a dry croak.

"H-hey, Arnold."

* * *

Helga had _no_ idea what was going on or where she was going or how in the name of anything holy she was going there with Arnold.

And yet there he was, all six feet tall of him ( _When did that happen?_ She wondered), beautiful and golden ( _He's so tan!_ She marveled), and smiling at the city around them, and walking with her.

She walked in morbid silence, unable to do much beyond a simple nod or two to simple questions he asked her about the neighborhood. She just was having difficulty processing the situation. She was now nineteen years old, and Arnold had left Hillwood not long after their adventure to San Lorenzo. After all, he found his parents in the jungle, and what is an orphan kid going to do if he finally discovers his parents out there, _alive_ and well? And then almost ten years later, she quite literally runs into him on her University campus.

 _What the fuck is happening?_ That was the basic limit of what her thoughts could process. Arnold, ( _Bless Him,_ she thought), for his part, was merely walking next to her, a respectful but agonizing nine inches of air between their shoulders. After he helped her up off the ground, Arnold had exploded with joy, shouting and talking a Tolstoy novel a minute about how he had missed her and he was so happy to see her and he couldn't believe how tall she was, and just about a trillion other things by Helga's reckoning. She had to forcibly shut him up with a hand on his shoulder.

"Cool it, Football Head. You look like you've seen a ghost. it's just Helga G. Pataki here." She tried to play it cool. _Old habits die hard, don't they old girl?_ She mused to herself. She was scared, and surprised, and so unbelievably _happy_ she could barely process the fact that he was standing right there, smiling in her general direction.

"It's just really good to see you, is all, Helga." The same brilliant, angelic smile he had back then, she thought, only now it was augmented by a more robust, adult jawline and _oh my dear God is that his CHIN?_ She had trouble just looking at him. Time in South America was apparently _very_ good for handsomeness.

"What are you even doing here?" She had to ask.

"I'm back!" Big smile from Arnold.

"You're back? Back back?" She wondered if he caught the tremble of hope in her voice, the quiet plea.

"Let's just get caught up first, it's been so long! I saw Gerald at his Frat house and he said you'd probably be here. I'm just so glad to see you, Helga."

She stopped walking, and Arnold stopped a step behind her, turning to look at her.

"What's up, something wrong?" He had a slight accent, she just noticed, like he hadn't been speaking English much for a long time.

Helga hesitated. Of course, she had fantasized about this exact moment, this very precise occurrence. A thousand scenarios had been played out in her imagination, her fevered dreams, her private notebooks filled with poetry and prose dedicated to him, and his memory. There was a laundry list of things she _wanted_ to say to him, things she _needed_ to hear to get closure on her end. There were hours and hours of monologues written and prepared for the myriad variables for how she would see him again. Cross-indexed and aligned according to season, location, and method, she had at her mimetic disposal the immediate way she wanted to have this go down.

Helga wanted to jump on him and drown him in kisses, and destroy the pavement beneath them with the sheer force of their pelvic collision.

But seeing him in the flesh somehow dispelled all those fantasies. Somehow, the Arnold of her dreams just didn't measure up to the Arnold standing in front of her. She could barely think, now that he was here, much less remember what she wanted to _say._ All she could do was panic, and stall for time. In a sick haze she remembered her next class, and felt a cool wash of relief that she had a way out.

"I-I don't have a lot of _time_ before my next class, Hair Boy." Arnold frowned at her. It was devastating, and she felt very cowardly. She held onto her arm for comfort, and looked away, unable to bear that dreadful expression on his glowing face..

"Oh. Well. What about after, maybe we can meet at the coffee shop down the corner when you're done? Is two hours enough?"

She gripped her bag uncomfortably. He better not be asking her on a date. He had too much to explain. Too much had _happened._ She had confined the memory of him to an almost impossible-to-reach location. Romantic interludes were simply not _possible._ And even though there was little else in the entire possibility stream of this quantum universe we inhabit she wanted more than to catch up with Arnold over a cup of coffee, she was downright terrified. Unfortunately the way she typically showed fear was with anger and impatience.

"Yeah I guess that works. This better not be some kind of date, Arnold." She clenched her fist at her side, and Arnold looked at her hand, nonplussed. He canted his head just slightly, and looked at her for a beat, as if he was searching her face. She added, quietly. "I mean it."

"It won't be. Just catching up."

She knew what she _wanted_ to do, and she also know what would happen if she sat opposite of Arnold at a little table in a dimly lit, comfy coffee shop where the exotic smell of roasting espresso beans and the romantic sound of eclectic music filled the air. She wasn't sure her heart could take jumping full on into the Arnold ocean just yet. She begged inwardly for a chance to go back to the kiddie pool. With no savior coming to her aid, and nothing left to do but go with her own decision making ability, she chewed her lip and struggled with her choice. Finally, she knew what to do.

"Alright. I'll meet you there. Don't wait up if I'm late though, I'm busy." _Why did you say that?_ She hated herself for accepting his outstretched hand at the same time she pushed it away.

"Great. I'll count every minute." Arnold smiled at her and she had to screw up her face in a sour expression to keep from a savage, heavy tear from tearing free of her eye and rolling down her cheek. He frowned again, looking at her in the same terrible, searching way he had moments before. She shifted uncomfortably in his gaze.

"Sure, great, alright, well, now that I have a creepy stalker I'll go be on my way to class and try not to worry you've got several duffle bags with my name on them." She snorted, and Arnold made a face.

"Whatever you say, Helga." And then he turned way, and for a hideous second Helga remembered the last time he turned away from her, and what that meant for her, and she almost tackled his back. If she did that, though, she knew, heartbreak and trouble would immediately follow.

"See ya soon, Arnold." She whispered the same last words she had when he left the last time, and staggered in a daze to her next class.

* * *

Of course, Helga couldn't concentrate in her class at all. Within her heart was a stirring turmoil that rose like boiling water under her skin, and left her dizzy and surly. _Thank God this is just Russian History._ Helga was thankful that her easiest subject in what was really a quite rigorous semester was what followed her confrontation with Arnold.  _Confrontation? Hardly,_ _I_ _was the only one that was confrontational_ , she cursed herself.

How was she supposed to listen to a lecture about what was normally one of her favorite subject, Catherine the Great, when the one-time love of her life was just _hanging out_ at a coffee shop she could get to in two minutes full sprint? Helga was decidedly not paying attention, and held her thick, bold eyebrows knitted in concentration and worry. There was too much happening in her head to make any kind of coherent thoughts gather.

What she did know was that she was extremely happy and extremely afraid. There was precisely one human being in all seven-something billion on the planet that could do this to her. She had the unfortunate luck of meeting him when she was only three years old, and was unfortunately his servant in heart and mind ever since. That was what scared her. Even though she spent hours and hours daydreaming about this _exact_ moment, wishing every day that she would turn a corner and bump into Arnold, she never imagined how it would feel when it really happened. It always went a lot simpler in her mind.

What would he say? What did he _want_? Was he really just eager to catch up to an old friend - was she just a friend to him still? Their parting had been the most confusing and difficult moment in her life, and not knowing how she stood with him anymore was nightmarish.

 _Easy, Helga, old girl. Remember, his letters towards the end got really chummy._ Helga had to remind herself of the way his writing matured and changed over time. She felt unimaginably lucky to get to watch his style and prose grow as he wrote to her, unanswered. Except for once. That was all she could bring herself to manage, that single letter devoid of anything except a casual wish for his general well health.

"Don't die in the Jungle. Regards, Helga."

She remembered the words. She chewed on what to write for months. It took her six months from the time he left to write him back, six of his unanswered letters asking her to write him back so he could _talk_ to her about his incredible hero parents, and that pathetic response was all she could muster.

She shifted in her chair and slunk further under the desk to try to keep from getting called on, feeling her face get hot with the shame furnace of embarrassment. She knew she was red, her fair skin always showed embarrassment really easily. Luckily, her professor was an old man and uninterested in most teenage problems, and kept his questions to the ones that participated the most. It was usually Helga, but today she was visibly pensive. The normally loud-mouthed and expressive girl was quiet and tense in her chair, unable to make eye contact where it normally was held confidently.

Putting it mildly, Helga Geraldine Pataki was shaken.

 _He's finally back and you're too afraid to go see him._ Her courage with Arnold had always been fleeting. She somehow found it in special moments, the moments when she really needed it the most. She did not hesitate to act when she felt like he was threatened or being taken advantage of; Summer had learned that lesson. She smiled to herself suddenly remembering the "kiss" she gave Arnold in her Babewatch one piece bathing suit. _Still the second best kiss of all time._ She smirked. Thinking of the good moments gave her the strength to keep thinking of him, to press herself forward mentally with the grim determination that she wielded like a weapon in all other instances.

Before she knew it, however, her class was over, and she had to go see him. She had to walk herself to that coffee shop and try to not act like the entirety of her world had suddenly changed _again._ Helga could deal with adversity - that was her forte - but in this _one_ subject she had to force herself to do it.

Somehow one foot led in front of the other all the way to the coffee shop. She stared at her pink and black Converse high-tops the entire time, staring at the little white heart with "A+H" she doodled on them as a private joke to herself. She just _had_ to wear them today.

Her hand mechanically pushed the door open, and the door chime jingled once. She found his face immediately, and was so shocked at seeing him a second time, nearly as bad as the first, that she had to steady herself on the wall for just an instant.

 _He's so good looking._ She breathed to herself. Time in South America or wherever he was apparently aged him extremely well. Arnold was never a big kid, but the man sitting at the table waiting for her was almost six feet tall, and tanned in that healthy way that screamed a lifetime of working in the tropics. His hair was still that wild blonde mess, but the sun had kissed it and given him the light-drenched waves that were scattered over his forehead and eyebrows now. His head still reminded her of a football. She smiled at that, but the jaw line defined itself and his chin got just strong enough to lift up and expose the Adam's apple under a light dusting of blonde stubble.

He looked so good to Helga in his ruby red flannel shirt with his sleeves rolled up. She thought she caught a glimpse of something tattooed on his forearms, which looked strong and surprisingly well built to her. She had no idea what he had done in San Lorenzo, but it evidently was good for the male figure.

He saw her. Those big green eyes of his opened up wide and little thin lines creased at his temples when he smiled at her. One of her knees buckled, and she had to grab a man passing her on the way out as she stumbled down the short steps into the coffee shop to walk to their table.

Finally, Helga crossed her legs in the chair opposite of Arnold and looked at him in silence, her face as neutral as she could manage. He was still smiling at her, and all she could do was look at him in reverence.

"You look great, Helga," he half-laughed when he said that. "Really, I mean, you, uh," he looked away shyly, and she almost whimpered. "You grew up," he finally managed to croak out. He looked back at her, smiling still.

"Y-yeah, well, ten years does that to a girl." She hoped he didn't hear the clear tinge of bitterness in her voice, but she was afraid it was very obvious.

He didn't respond to the sarcasm. "No pink ribbon though? I couldn't imagine you without it." Helga tried not to let herself think that meant he did a lot of imagining her.

"I still have it, it's just in storage somewhere." She didn't add that it was wrapped around the box full of his letters. "Besides, I don't see that dorky blue hat you were obsessed with."

"I still have it, don't worry. Anyway, I'm just excited to be back in the old neighborhood. I didn't expect to see you here, actually, I thought you would be off with Phoebe at some Ivy League somewhere, solving the world hunger crisis." He laughed a little.

"Saving the hungry was always your sort of deal, Football Head. Besides, I _got_ into those colleges, I just didn't like their _offers._ The only schools worth my time are the ones that beg me to go." At last, she seemed to find her footing, some little toehold of confidence she could use.

"Hahaha, that's Helga all right. Well what do you study?"

"Double major in Creative Writing and Women's Studies. I'll probably get a masters in something if they beg me hard enough. Oh, and pay me." She scratched at her arm, the only visible sign of body language that she was nervous. She needed to get the conversation off of her somehow. "So, uh, how about some coffee, Hairboy?"

"Oh right! Yeah, give me a second. I'll buy - not in a date way, just friends." He smiled at her reassuringly, standing from the table. She nodded at him, turning her head to look at something else. Anything else.

She couldn't help herself though, and whipped her head back around to check him out as he walked to the counter. _Strong legs and a perfect ass too, and in old jeans. God, kill me, strike me dead, for I am unworthy to gaze upon such perfection. Are those dusty_ _cowboy_ _boots? Who_ _is_ _this guy? When did he become a caballero?_ She marveled at this Arnold ten feet away from her, looking up at the coffee shop menu in the handsome, warm light, totally oblivious of her gawking. For a second she couldn't remember the last time she felt this nervous, this physically sick just from looking at someone. But then she could, and bitterly recalled the last time he walked away for good.

He came back with two small white porcelain cups steaming and fragrant with espresso.

"Dos cafés," he said, setting her cup in front of her. "Para mi amiga." She looked at him a little funny, her bold eyebrows going up on her head, beneath her blonde bangs that she cast to the side away from the shaved surface of her scalp above the left ear.

"Oh sorry, I, uh, sometimes forget to speak English," he explained. She privately filed away that he was at least bilingual now. Another reason he was amazing, and perfect, and another dangerous weapon he had against her.

"Very fancy, Football Head, very fancy. So...so what's up? What do you wanna know about your, uh, hiatus?" She tried to get to the point of the matter. She needed to know why _her._ Was it just because she was one of the few left in their hometown? Did he seek her out first? She had to know. She lifted the cup of espresso to her face to inhale the deep scent, and to hide her nervous frown.

"I want to know about a lot of things, but I'll find out most of it at the party." He set his cup down, smiling disarmingly.

"Party? Beg your pardon?"

"Yeah, Gerald said he is throwing a big party at his Frat house this weekend and, get this," Arnold reached for his messenger bag, old, leather, and instantly recognizable as his father's. She wouldn't forget it, not in this lifetime. He pulled out a little black book, and Helga recognized that too. Her eyes narrowed when she saw it, instantly suspicious. Gerald and Phoebe's Little Black Book, the dossier of everyone worth knowing and every major event in the city. Spoils from a particularly dangerous adventure in high school. The ciphers contained in that humble Moleskine could destroy lives and make careers. "He's got pretty much everybody from the old gang coming."

"What? How is that possible, even for him?" Helga had to give props to Gerald's impressive network. He was the one who had - reluctantly - helped her get her first gig with her band, and a few more after that. All he asked for were favors he could cash in later. He had yet to call any of them in, and he had a lot. But she always expected that the well-connected athlete going to the same university as her would call her in the least convenient way possible. She just didn't expect him to throw his weight around with the Black Book.

"All he did was use this," Arnold smiled as he put the black book on the table in front of her. "And tell them who it was for."

Helga's eyebrows went up, and she clucked her tongue, sure Gerald was up to something disastrously inconvenient this time. Nothing good ever came from that book.

" _I_ was impressed, and thankful," Arnold laughed, putting the black book back in his bag. "He let me borrow it to find the old gang still living nearby, and a few important others." Arnold looked down at their table and swept some strewn loose sugar off the surface, clearing his throat.

"Which is why we're here," he slowly continued. She wasn't sure why he was looking down, away from _her_ , but it made her afraid.

 _He must be tired of looking at me in this light. I bet I look a terror, all sweaty and no makeup._ If she hadn't already been catastrophically self-conscious she would have suddenly felt totally exposed.

"I had to see you first." His green eyes lifted, catching hers directly and holding them tight.

"Wh-wha, what?" She stammered her response. _He had to see me first? What does he mean?_

"I wrote you so many times, Helga. I had to see you first, to know the truth for myself." Arnold was always so _driven_ and _obsessed_ with the truth. It was easily one of his most heroic qualities to her, but Helga found herself stymied by it often. Moments like now were a prime example.

She didn't respond for a good while, looking at her hands on the table, eyebrows up and her expression sad.

Finally, she spoke, slowly, and quietly, so Arnold had to lean in close to hear her.

"You should have come back sooner, Football Head."

* * *

Arnold came back into the cafe ten minutes or so after he left the table. She watched him call someone on his cell phone when he left, animatedly speaking Spanish and visibly frustrated. It bothered her that she was the reason he was upset, but it fascinated her that this man she loved - loved still? - had grown so _different_ yet remained so utterly the same.

When he sat down, she started to talk immediately, before her courage left her.

"I wrote you back every single day," she began hastily. "I just never sent them to you. I _couldn't_. Every letter started with 'I miss you' and ended with 'Please come home.' Criminy, Arnold, do you know how hard it was when you left? How scared I was that I would never see you again? Every letter you wrote me was a new pleasure, an amazing soul-dizzying joy that I treasured, hoarded, kept in meticulous order by date in a huge box I marked ' _Important._ ' I was twelve when you stopped sending them every month, and sixteen when they stopped entirely. I figured you, I don't know, _moved on_ or something."

Arnold did not answer, but just looked at her like he wanted her to go on. She was expecting him to jump in, and his silence put her off balance, prompting her to keep spilling her guts.

"So yeah, uh...so, I, I _wanted_ to send them all to you. I wanted to know what your family was like, what you were going through, and tell you all about what was happening here. But, I figured Gerald was already telling most of the important stuff, and besides I couldn't send you something asking you to leave your _family._ But I was ten, and then a teen, and I..." Helga paused, forcing the words out of her mouth slowly. "I m-m-mmmissed you. That was what I wanted. I wanted you to leave them and come back to me. It was selfish. It would have hurt you."

Arnold started to make a face at her, and opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted him quickly.

"No, Arnold, it would have been _terrible._ You don't know what I _wrote._ I couldn't help it, every time I started to write something friendly and apologetic for not writing back yet, everything just came pouring out of me, all over the damn pages, and in between the hot pissed off tears and ink stains were the words ' _I need you every day._ ' I don't know how I managed to write what you got. It's a fucking miracle it was less than nine pages."

"So you just didn't send anything instead." Arnold's voice was flat.

"I couldn't be selfish and burden your new life with your parents with my stupid girlhood crush. I knew better. I hated it, but I knew someone as amazing as you would find someone out there. I was just going to be happy with what I had, nice childhood memories of a wonderful boy who was always nice to me no matter how nasty I got to him. I had the whole thing packaged up all neat and tidy, see, a real lovely little memory, and I would just live on and never forget. That was all I could do. Anything more wouldn't have been fair, or realistic, or even _possible._ And...and I figured you...you didn't mean what you said in the jungle, because _you never said it again."_

The silence between them was choking, stifling. Helga felt dizzy and sick, even worse than before. She certainly hadn't meant to totally pour her guts out to her first childhood love today. That was not on her agenda. All she could do was hope it was enough to appease him, to make him stay here to talk to her some more. She felt helpless, under his scrutiny, _observed._ She hated the sensation even as she thrilled under it.

Finally, Arnold gave her his reply.

"I just wanted to talk to you." His voice didn't even hide the hurt. She despaired that she hurt him. She knew she had to. She knew she would have to again. Her resolve, her absolute fortitude was that she could always do what she thought was right for him, even if it murdered her. He spoke again, this time with a bit more anger. "Nothing back for six years, Helga. Except that one letter, like _nothing even happened._ But it did. I said that I loved you back then, and I _meant_ it. I may have just been ten years old, but I knew I meant it."

Her heart almost totally stopped, hammering so hard in her chest she felt it in her eyes. He couldn't imagine the power those words held over her, and what they did to her when he spoke them about her. But she was saddened by them, too, because she knew they were wasted. That was a long time ago. They were different now. He didn't know who he cared about, and it certainly wasn't the Helga in front of him. _At best,_ she argued with herself, _he thinks he loved some idea of me that got away from him and let him fantasize all day._ She couldn't let herself believe him. _It's over, now._

"Arnold..." Helga sighed. She was so tired. He wearied her, being this close to the sun was exhausting, blistering, and cruel to her heart. She despaired to leave his presence again, ever, but she had to get up before she couldn't ever stand up again.

"...The past is the past." Her gaze was level with his. This was maybe the longest conversation she had ever had with him, and she basically had just ended it.

Arnold looked into her face for several beats. He was badly hurt. She saw it plainly on his honest, open features, those beautiful features she would be haunted by, she knew, the rest of her life. She didn't mean a word of it. She thought she had put him in a little corner of her heart, fully sequestered and kept safe, but out of the way. Where he couldn't do any harm anymore. But today taught her, with terrible demonstration, that he _was_ her heart, the whole of it, and she lived to reflect him back on the world.

But she knew he had to let whatever boyish fascination he had for her go, for his sake. Ten years was ten too many to pine for Helga Geraldine Pataki. By being unable to do anything except _ignore_ him she proved herself unworthy of his attention. Her failure was one of a spiritual collapse, a total ethical paralytic fit, an inexcusable stalemate.

Her heart dropped again when he stood up from the table. His eyes lowered, finally leaving hers, and he slid a piece of paper onto the table in front of her. Without saying another word, Her Football Head walked out of the cafe, and for all she knew, her life again.

Helga's feet curled under her chair and her hands balled into fists at her sides, her arms squeezing her waist as hard as she could to force air into her lungs. Her face was pressed on the table hard, eyes squeezed shut to keep the hot torrent in her tear ducts from welling up out of control. It was like he took her _liver_ out.

Helga's hands gripped her pink shirt for purchase, and she felt one of the fat tears scream an angry line down her face. It had been many years since she shed any tears for Arnold; tonight, she would double them all.

* * *

Helga woke up to feel her phone buzzing furiously in her messenger bag against her leg.

She raised her head, temporarily unsure of her surroundings. Then she remembered all that had transpired not long ago in the coffee shop at the table she was dozing off on. The sick feeling started to come roaring back, so she pushed it down with the angry fact that she let herself fall asleep in exhaustion from the ordeal.

Crying alone in a coffee shop was _one_ thing, but falling asleep from the _emotions_ of it all was something Helga was not proud of.

Her leg felt the insistent buzz of her phone again. Whoever it was kept calling her, and wouldn't stop, she wagered, until she finally answered. Growling, she bent down to retrieve her pink phone from the bag.

She looked at the contact flashing on her screen. It was Gerald.

_Beep._

"What is it?" The impatience and fury in her voice was evident.

"Shut up Pataki, and just listen." The fury in _his_ voice was just as obvious, and shocking. Gerald hardly ever got mad in this way that she could recall.

"Listening," she ground out from between clenched teeth.

"You owe me a few big fat favors by my count, am I right, Pataki?"

"I may owe you a few minor favors. What of it, Afroboy?" She fell to old habits, referring to him by the new nickname she adopted when he started to pick out his magnificent hair into a stately and round afro.

"Time to cash in. Get your band ready for performing, and I mean _tippity fucking top shape._ You and Brainy are gonna play my party this weekend."

" _What?_ No, Gerald, I can't possibly do that-"

"Shut up Pataki," he spat, impatience in his voice clear as day. "I have half a mind to march to that coffee shop and upend your tall blonde ass. He waits to see you for _ten goddamn years_ and this is how you go with it?"

"Gerald, off this subject. Now." Helga tried to sound as intimidating as she could over the phone. It normally worked on the handsome, athletic Gerald, who typically didn't really want to tango with her.

He didn't back down.

"No, you hold up and listen to this: _I'm not going to let you fuck up our plans._ So you better step in line and do as you're told for once in your fucking life."

Helga's brain raced. Her considerable intelligence was able to disassemble the pieces of this conversation that previously remained elusive; like a great jigsaw a piece locked into place here, another snugly fell where its contours found the best fit. Her strong eyebrows knitted up and she breathed a surprised huff into the phone. Gerald was throwing him a party with all their old gang, or at least as many as could be reached in short notice. He was calling in favors, one at a time, from those that owed him from a lifetime of friendly debts. All those _people_ with a young lifetime of problems unresolved, old grudges, and old loves. A massive reunion of Troubles for Arnold to see. Gerald was moving big things into place, and making grand gestures, and he was even using Helga's band as a resource. She knew what was happening here.

"You're trying to keep him here, aren't you?" Helga's voice was surprise tempered with outrage, and just the smallest tinge of hope.

"You're damn right, Pataki. What's the problem?" Gerald's voice challenged her to question him. She heard the tremble of anger in his voice.

Helga paused for several beats, her mind quickly racing with all the difficult choices she had just made, struggling with the truth she felt she knew in her heart, and the ugly conclusions that fell upon her as a result. She _knew_ Arnold would have a better life without her. If he even felt anything for her - and Helga was sure beyond any doubting that he didn't - it was a misguided type of gratitude the lovely, loving, and generous Arnold _wanted_ to be something more. She was no good for him, ever, and even though in her deepest desires he was hers, Helga would never let that happen, for his own good.

But that didn't mean he couldn't _stay here_.

Helga lifted the piece of paper Arnold slipped her from the table, unfolding the tiny note and reading the contents entirely. Her eyes widened at the contents, unable to accept what she saw but staring at it nonetheless. She clenched her jaw, and slapped the paper down on the table decisively.

"No problem at all, Afroboy," she boldly announced. "I'm in. What do we do next?"

On the opposite end of the line, Gerald smiled wide, his white teeth showing.

"Baby, all you gotta do next is sing."


	2. Unhappy Child, Flash Me Your Rottweiler Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helga and her roommate discuss the sudden arrival of Arnold. Some music is played. Dinner arrangements are made, with a side of sneaky planning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story continues with a shift in POV! The song is not mine (I'm not a song writer), nor is it Helga's. The lyrics for this song are from "Gibbon" by This Town Needs Guns, you should check it out if you want to get your ears caressed by noodly guitars. Please note: At various points in the fic song lyrics will be borrowed to substitute for my own lack of songwriting ability. If this isn't your thing, I apologize.

"Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love." - Jane Austen

* * *

Brainy stood on the tiny balcony of the apartment he shared with Helga, silently looking down onto the street while he smoked a cigarette. Tom Waits blared from their stereo system, filling the air in the open terrace even as it came from inside the living room. He leaned against the old white-painted wrought-iron balustrade, feeling it creak under his weight. He'd gotten just a single text from Helga, but it was all he needed to know about what kind of night she had in store for him.

"Football Head."

The formerly awkward, geeky boy had grown into a tall, lithe man, who resembled to any casual observer a blonde Buddy Holly. He especially resembled the comparison now, in his cleanly starched and pressed gingham button-down shirt with extra slim tie, high-quality denim super slim-cut jeans, and spotless brown leather Winklepicker shoes. His sandy blonde hair was high and curly at the top, and kept almost buzzed at the sides and back. His thick framed black glasses - which he found in some vintage shop somewhere - gave him a contemplative look even when his eyes were passive.

Helga's friend and bandmate had lived with her ever since her parents went through the divorce. Helga was seventeen at the time, needed a place to stay, and one of his oldest and closest friends. It was trivial to Brian, whom Helga still called "Brains" or "Brainy" from time to time, to let her move in with him.

Collectively, they made good roommates. They both had a similar expectation of cleanliness and respected each other's privacy.

It helped Brian that she was still probably the great love of his life, though he was far too respectful of her friendship to make any sort of moves on her. It wasn't always easy. The nights she came to him missing Arnold were the worst. Tonight seemed like it would be one of those nights, so Brainy had already cracked open a longneck beer and was pulling from it generously between songs of "Rain Dogs" piping in its controlled lunacy from their sound system.

Brian thoughtfully tried to remember the last time Helga was upset like he was expecting her to be this time around. He could assume plenty about what was coming; Helga was nothing if not _dramatic._ Her mood swings were never severe enough that he was seriously worried, but Brian knew enough to know when to stay away and when she needed someone to shove around, and when she needed someone to argue with. He didn't mind doing any of that for her - in fact, the fact wasn't lost to him in the slightest that his primary role in their friendship was to listen to her and play guitar.

Brainy started playing guitar when he was eleven. Helga had drifted apart from him, no longer having any reason to sulk back and begin one of her dramatic monologues without Arnold around. He withdrew further into his hobby as time went on, eventually becoming extremely proficient. His passion for music drove him to frequent a local record store, where he now worked part time, which is where he ran into Helga at the start of middle school. They talked music, and it just so happened _she_ played as well. Several jam sessions later, they were Orphan, the beginnings of their current band.

Over time, they attracted other members that came and went, but the core of Orphan would always be him and Helga. Their shared passion for music blossomed an intense, intimate friendship. Brainy got a job at their local record store at sixteen, and Helga was their most frequent customer. Together, they had amassed what was probably the biggest and most thoroughly maintained record collection in the tricounty area. His efforts and focus were poured into their music, and he had a perfect partner in Helga, who had no end of lyrics and no small amount of vocal talent. Together they experimented with all manner of styles, from mathrock to krautrock and riot grrl. Brainy had found his life's true calling in Orphan, and in this way he relied on Helga just as much, if not more, than she did him.

He was just finishing his cigarette when he heard her come home, the heavy thump of her messenger bag in the kitchen, the percussive stomp of her feet through their living room towards the balcony.

His hand automatically handed her the tallboy, which she snatched from his hand without looking, and drank deeply. He was still leaning over the balcony balustrade, looking down into the alley their apartment faced. The silence between them was familiar, a comforting feeling, and always welcome between two friends who made a habit of creating terrifying and new musical noises for fun. So, he would let her quietly drink and think with him until she was ready to start talking.

A late summer light drizzle started, and she joined it with a frustrated sigh. He flicked his blue eyes her way, finally looking at her as she started to talk.

"Arnold is back in town," she finally said. Brainy's eyebrows went up high, and he pushed his glasses up his nose automatically, turning his body to face her and lean back against the balustrade with his hands. Helga's eyes flicked up and met his, and they looked at each other in silence. Helga finally sighed again and leaned over the edge, resting her chin on her folded arms.

Brainy watched her. She just looked out into the alley like he had been, her full lips pouting in their usual way. It was bad, he could tell by her calm silence that it was bad. No ranting, no screaming, and he hadn't been punched yet.

Wordlessly, Brian pushed away from the balcony, turned off the Tom Waits, and went to their living room to begin setting up their amps and pedals, plugging things in and tuning their guitars for them. He was reverent and careful with their instruments, in the same way he was reverent and careful with her friendship. When he was handling her guitar, Brainy always felt like he was handling Helga in a very real sense. When he ran his fingers along the frets, he couldn't help but imagine his fingers on her neck; strumming chords out felt like running his hands through her hair.

She came into the room and took her guitar from him when it was tuned with a quiet nod of thanks. She roughly jammed the cord into the amp, and started to play their most technically challenging and mathematically complex song.

Brian was immediately there with her, following the syncopated polyrhythm they had jammed out months back with nearly flawless precision.

She was playing roughly, he noticed. She kept missing the downbeats, and had sloppy picking technique, which was how she got when she was drunk or they played for big shows or when she was nervous. Brian noted that her knuckles were red and swollen, and could feel the hot pulse of ghostly impacts on his own hands as he imagined her punching the walls somewhere.

Helga, for her part, seemed lost in the song, her voice the typical scratchy, seeming unpracticed sound she cultivated after phases of melodic twee, hardcore and screamo, and finally the experimental guttural growls of grunge. Brian loved her singing voice, an uneven, rough and lilting sound that sounded all at once fierce and vulnerable. She could sound Springtime sweet if she needed to, but usually kept her typical barbed sarcasm laced within the slightly flat way she sang. Brainy listened with renewed interest in the poetic wrangling of her song, and took note of the revitalized passion behind her voice:

 _"Once more into breaches I cannot gap._  
_One more chance to second guess your thoughts._  
_My friends said that you would be a tough nut to crack._

 _Come back lets settle this up..._  
_...and down my spine,_  
_the faint tingle keeps me up at night._  
_So while you dream I lie awake and look to the stars._  
_No answers forthcoming I find myself locked in your arms."_

Helga's voice was initially quiet and low, building and rolling on itself with emotion. Her playing continued to follow the complex mathrock rhythm they learned together, but her picking slipped as the clear choke of emotion threatened to undo the jam session entirely.

 _"Once more into breaches I cannot gap._  
_One more chance to second guess your thoughts._  
_My friends said that you would be a tough nut to crack._  
_Come back lets settle this up!_

 _Like earth and dust,_  
_We're one and the same; insignificant._  
_Well who am I to presume that we were all but gone?_  
_Perpetually complexing the simple. I for one am done."_

Brainy almost stopped playing, his hand hesitating for a second because of the way she sounded. Helga _always_ played with emotions behind her effort. That was what she brought to Orphan; beyond her brilliant lyrics and extremely proficient guitar work, she was a creature of unbridled _passion._ The drawback was that when she'd had a little to drink, and was messed up over the possible love of her life, sometimes the song got too _real_. He could feel her sadness clear as day in the dirty feedback of the amplifier, he could hear the frustration and emotive stalemate in her voice. As their song fell into the simple, plodding bridge, designed to connect the more complex and pattern-focused first half of the song to the explosive, kinetic eruption of the second, he noted that she kept her whole body curled over the guitar, her body bobbing with the 4:4 beat. Finally, she started to sing the last verse, bringing her voice up from her bent double form quietly.

 _"You brought this on yourself._  
_Our problems had enough time on the shelf._  
_We made the same mistakes,_  
_lived our lives without the give and the take."_

Helga's voice suddenly built volume and force, her previously frustrated, fragile mezzo-soprano raising into a harsh shout as she stood straight up onto her tiptoes, playing and singing directly into the air like an explosion.

 _"The time we spent apart_  
_served to remind me of when we'd talk!_  
_My one and sole regret_  
_are the thoughts that went left unsaid!"_

Helga grew quiet and continued to play the last epilogue of the song's melody with explosive passion, her hands rending the notes out of the guitar in frustration, until finally they both landed on the same closing note and stood in the buzzing silence of the expectant amps.

This wasn't a performance song. This was one of the ones they had never recorded because Helga hated playing it, and got frustrated when her fingers couldn't follow the tabs she wrote for herself. The first time she showed him what she wanted to do, Brainy just cocked an eyebrow at her, shrugged, and started to play along. Her aggressive style lended itself to powerful performances, and challenging music, but it often frustrated her.

Today, he could tell, she was playing the song to frustrate herself.

Brian heard their downstairs neighbor thumping on their floor from below, and Helga looked down at the floor and stomped twice hard. The thumping stopped, and she blew a stray strand of golden hair out of her face, misted by drizzle and sweat in the apartment's temperate heat from the kitchen radiator.

Brian stood passively, looking at her hands. Helga noticed, so she put her hands in her pockets.

"I got mad, okay," she explained. Brian nodded and put his guitar down, sitting on the chair behind him. Helga remained standing, and started to pace. Brainy was ready to hear her out, and after their therapeutic jam session, she was ready to talk.

* * *

"He just showed up out of nowhere. One minute I am ranting about the _Bronte_ sisters of all things and the next he's standing over me like he just fell out of orbit. Then he _helps me up_ and asks me to _get coffee with him_ like this wasn't some kind of impossible dream to me. Like he could just _get coffee with me_ and I wouldn't die."

Helga held onto her stomach and bent double, dramatically groaning.

"Then he is all handsome and godlike in the comfy mood light, and I swear to you Brian, he was just as sweet and honest and true as he always was. It was like he stepped out of the room and then stepped back in all grown up but exactly the same. Criminy, he even _winked_ at me like he used to. But then," Helga faltered, her voice catching with emotion as she continued to recount her awful moment with Arnold. "Then he brought up his letters and the past and our-his _confession_."

Brain could feel that he had started to hold his breath. He had imagined this moment once or twice, but in his fantasies Helga turned Arnold down. He didn't know what would happen if she still reciprocated feelings for Arnold in that way. What would happen to their friendship, their band, or to him.

"And I _turned him down._ " Helga sounded so bitterly disappointed in herself. Brian's pulse quickened, too afraid to frighten this long-awaited moment away to speak. He knew he just had to be here for her now, and everything would take care of itself naturally.

"I told him it was all in the past, why did I do that? Oh _God_ I want to take it back, I want to go find him and tell him everything was a lie and beg him to find some shred of his infinite heaven-given patience and forgiveness to _accept_ me. Dammit, god _dammit_ he was right there where I could touch him and all I did was wince and scowl and cry. He must think I am repulsive and awful, there isn't any coming back from this, it's the final end!"

Helga was on her knees, pounding the floor with her fists, a disappointed and angry look on her face devoid of any of the sharp fury Brian was used to. He held onto the arms of his chair for purchase, still dizzy from the fulfillment of one of his dreams.

"And then Gerald calls me and cashes in one of those obnoxious fucking magic favors he got out of me, and _fucking get this_ , it's for Orphan to play this huge fuckoff reunion party or something he is throwing. _Everybody_ from 118 is going to be there, Brains."

He thought she looked legitimately scared when she said that. He certainly felt scared. She didn't seem to notice.

"I can't sing _any_ of our songs there, they're all about _him._ Everyone will know, they'll all hear me singing about Arnold and so will he, and it will just be over, it will all be _over. Arnold will leave forever again._ How could Gerald do this to me? I was never nasty enough to him to deserve _this._ "

Her head fell back and she looked up at their ceiling, covered in old music and film posters they collected from flea markets and thrift shops.

"Gerald then spills it that he has this plan for Arnold to stay," she croaked to the ceiling. Brain sat back further in the chair, surprised. "And apparently I am part of the plan. He wouldn't give me many details, but apparently he has this crazy plan to show Arnold he has to stick around again, that he _wants_ to stay, but step one is that I play at this party."

Brian sighed, rubbing his chin with his palm. That was heavy.

"So I agreed." Helga turned to look at him again. "I will die of shock and embarrassment when Arnold hears these songs, but, I can't help myself, I want him to stay. I just can't help myself when it's him, and so I need you to agree to play with me."

Helga scooted over to Brian on her knees, her hands resting on his legs, and she looked up at him.

"Please, Brian, _please_ " she begged. Her voice was full of all the sincere helplessness she could muster. "Help me do this, because if I have to, I will go up there alone, and it'll be a big fucking mess. You have to help me."

Brainy looked up, away from Helga, and out at the open balcony where the drizzle was picking up into a light rain. He wasn't sure that this day would ever happen, that he would be forced to help Helga with Arnold again, that is _directly._ He had spent many nights staying up before, listening to her worry and fret over the idea of never seeing him again. He had held her hand when she had crying fits because she saw someone with the same stupidly shaped head somewhere and it wasn't him. He had even let her fistfight him once, in the alley, because Olga threw out some of her old shrine stuff. He was familiar with the Arnold Problem.

But not quite like this. Helga knew how he felt. He didn't have to say it. _He never would._ She knew she was asking him something that would hurt him. But Brian knew she needed him, and knew what it was like to need someone and have them not follow through. He wouldn't put Helga through the same experience.

Brainy looked down at Helga as she rested her cheek on his knee, still looking up at her friend and roommate. Brian nodded. He would help her.

* * *

Helga chewed Brainy's nachos thoughtfully at their dinner table later, her mouth full and a slight smile on her face.

"Damn, Brains. You sure can cook nachos like a pro. Not half bad at all." Brian smiled to himself, facing away from her as he washed the dish he had eaten with in their sink. Helga chewed her food happily; a nice pile of junk food always brightened her spirits, and she could usually count on Brian to have just the right thing ready whenever she was pissed off or upset.

The immediate time after she asked Brainy to help her on her knees was a little awkward for them both, of course. Helga rarely, if ever, asked Brian for help directly. Usually he was astute enough to anticipate what she would want or need, and if it wasn't too much trouble for him, he would simply _do_ it without being asked. He'd learned a lot about Helga from the years he watched her in stealthy, wheezing silence, and that came with immediate benefits now that they lived together.

The awkwardness passed, however, when Helga had grown self-conscious of herself prostrated at her friend's feet, stood up abruptly, and started pacing the room with a serious look written in her thick eyebrows.

"We need to figure out who's going to do bass and drums this time," she grumbled, the tall blonde moving quickly from her bedroom back to the living room, slapping her open palm with a fist. "I'm not letting that crustpunk _swine_ Harold near my stage again. If I get told how every little thing I do isn't _punk_ at this stupid party of Gerald's by Mr. Self-Proclaimed _Crustiest Punk in Hillwood_ , I'll wring his unwashed _neck._ "

Brainy stood up and started making them nachos while Helga thought out loud. The duo had played with a variety of their old friends from PS118 who had ended up in the music scene of Hillwood; Harold, Cid, Stoop Kid, and even Stinky plucked his twelve string guitar with them for a show once.

"And Harold's not even that _good_ , his bass is all over the place. What about Stoop Kid?" She was more asking herself than she was directly asking Brian, but he still shrugged his shoulders for her from the kitchen counter, nodding a little to indicate he would work.

"Yeah, Stoop's not half bad on skins, not half bad at all," Helga mused. "Think we can get him up to speed in such short notice? He's not exactly the swiftest sparrow in the tree, kid's basically a fourth grader brains-wise...but he knows his stuff, I'm sure he'll work." Helga's pacing resumed as she worked out who would play bass for their show. Brainy and her always had to do this right before a performance, work through their list of known musicians that weren't previously tied to any sort of playing obligations, and basically bribe them with beers and the threat of Helga's fists. The ritual they currently practiced, carefully stepping through the motions together, was one of comfort for Brian and Helga. It told him that she was on her way towards normalcy.

Then, he had set the nachos out on the table, and Helga ravenously tore into them.

"Bout time, Brains. I was _starving._ " Brian chewed his plate quietly with her, and they shared a fresh, cool beer, pulling from the tallboy bottle between bites.

Finally, when they were finished eating and Brian was cleaning up, Helga slapped the table suddenly.

"I've got it! Helga, old girl, you're _a genius._ " She flashed Brian a haughty, proud grin, her teeth showing wide from between her full, pouty lips.

"Gerald wants us to play so bad," she started, and Brian saw where this was headed. Trouble, but that was typically Helga's style. "I happen to know Froboy _slaps a mean bass._ We'll just tell him that he has to play, or the show's off. It's perfect either way! Froboy will either chicken out and then we don't have to play the stupid party, or he goes up and we get to kick his ass with our tunes. And if he _does_ agree, we get the better part of a week to figure out what his plan is. Oh-ho-ho man, Helga, old girl, you are just _too_ devious."

Brian didn't mention to Helga that she had made it clear that she very much _wanted_ to play this show, or that she previously begged him to help her. Helga had to convince herself of the difficult actions she had to take, or else her heart would falter. If bullying Gerald into playing bass with them was what she needed to go through with this, then Brainy would just play along.

She was his lead guitar anyway, and always was.

* * *

Helga reached over at Brain, pawing for the bottle of beer they were sharing. It was their fifth now, several records into the evening and plenty of Helga's rants behind them. Brian obediently passed the baton, figuring that she should be pretty sloshed right about now. They'd split four bottled 24oz. tallboys, and only eaten junk. Helga was hardly a lightweight but drinking was still a new hobby for them both, taken up because Brian's boss at the record store preferred to give bonuses in cases of beer rather than money. It was infrequent enough of an event that the pair had only ever gotten really drunk - sloppy, confession drunk - once. But he could tell that they were headed there quickly tonight, going through their supply in the fridge quickly.

Helga screwed up her face. "Beer's warm." Brain looked at her, his less-than-gentle buzz lifting his spirits and making him contemplative. He _really_ wanted to push himself over into her personal space and start kissing her.

He dismissed the thought as soon as he was able, which unfortunately for him took several moments of him looking at her full, pouty lips. Helga noticed.

"D-don't stare at me like that," she slurred, pointing at him with the hand that held the bottle. "Y'stay over there, right there. Don't move a muscle, Brains." She held her hand up for emphasis, here eyebrows going high. "Stay."

Brian would listen to her. The last thing she needed was one of her best friends and roommate complicating what was an already complicated day by throwing his romantic, more-than-friendly feelings into the mix.

Brian also was pretty sure that if he started to make a move on her now, she'd reciprocate, and they'd end up tangled in limbs and lips and _really_ screw things up. Helga was passionate, and _physical._ She was in the gym often, and boasted abundant energy and critical verve. As far as he knew she'd never been touched by a man in that way, and had to imagine that her hormones and needs were piling up. All the frustration from the day, all the tragedy of Arnold's return, and all their years of closeness of heart and nearness of physical proximity no doubt meant that Helga was surely thinking the same thing he was.

What would happen if they just fooled around a little as friends?

The thought had occurred to Brian many times before, and he was sure it had to Helga. How could it _not_ enter her head, when they shared everything, lived together, and were both obviously attracted to each other. It was always on _his_ mind, anyway, what his life would be like if they stopped being roommates and started being _lovers._ But he wouldn't make the first move - he knew that she had to come to him, or he would be overstepping the boundaries of their relationship they outlined together when she moved in with him.

So Brian kept his distance and solemnly, physically ached for Helga while she tortured herself over another man. So he was surprised by the sudden flop of her bare foot in his lap, followed by powerful flex of her toes and ankle. She sniffed and leaned on a single elbow, taking a pull from the bottle.

"Footrub?" Her toes waggled for emphasis. Brian's pulse raced. Was this it? Was this the moment the line was crossed, and he could _touch_ her? Was she inviting him in?

His hand reached for her foot, stopping an inch away when they both heard the dramatic, harsh buzzing of her phone from her messenger bag inches away from where they lounged in the room.

Helga's foot shot off his lap as she rolled tipsily to her bag, fishing for the phone with one hand, the beer bottle in the other. Brian's hand hovered in the spot where her foot had been, watching her with a bitter feeling of being cheated out of something.

"Yes! Hello! What is it?! Talk!" Helga's voice was full of aggression, the way she got when she was embarrassed or got caught doing something that she felt threatened her reputation.

"Yeah, I did. He did. How do you know that?" Helga still sounded like she'd been caught doing something, but he thought he could recognize the voice of Phoebe on the other end of the line. He couldn't hear what she was saying over the record they were playing, and had to settle for eavesdropping in on Helga's side of the conversation.

"You _knew?_ You knew he was coming and didn't tell me?" That sounded bad. Her voice took a dangerous pitch, her volume rising significantly.

"Yes, well, you'd better explain fast, before I hang this phone up and come kick your ass," she started to threaten Phoebe, before she was interrupted by something Phoebe said.

"So you know about Gerald's plan too? How do you figure in? Talk fast, Pheebs, this better be good." Brian stood up from his spot, and Helga looked up at him with a scowl on her face, then apologetically smiled at him. It was a surprisingly tender gesture from Helga. Brian leaned down and took the bottle from her, and walked to the kitchen to get some physical space between them.

"Oh so its _your_ plan too? Alright, look, I trust you, but only _just barely enough_ to play along. I want Ice Cream to stay," she used her old code for Arnold with Phoebe almost all the time, even when it was just Brian listening. "but I don't intend on making a damn fool of myself in front of everyone we've ever known to do it. So you'd better, you know, _fucking include me_ when you make plans that fucking involve me."

Helga sat up, rubbing at her temples. She was sobering up, and getting cranky from the uncomfortable feeling of her thoughts being far more lucid than her brain could keep up. Brian put the beer on the counter, and started to pour her a water. Striding across the room in silence, Brian handed Helga the glass of water, which she started drinking as she listened to Phoebe talk, nodding a thanks to him for the offer.

"Alright, that sounds good. Let's meet at Bigal's. I need pancakes and waffles. Plus I gotta tell you what _happened,_ Jesus Christ it was awful, Pheebs. Yeah, I already told Brainy. Yeah. He's right here…You want to talk to him?" Helga's last question had the clear note of surprise in it. She looked up at Brain, and he shrugged, reaching for the phone when Helga offered it to him.

"Uh...hello." Brian never knew how to start a conversation over the phone, and sounded as uncomfortable as he was.

"Brian," Phoebe started. "Arnold's doing something _incredibly_ ill-advised, short-sighted, and irreversible in an ever decreasing amount of time. I need you to promise me, for Helga's own best interests, that if you somehow discover, uncover, or unravel the truth that _you won't tell her."_ Brian's eyebrows went up high. He looked down at Helga, who was looking up at him, genuinely confused and concerned.

"Uh...okay." He agreed, Brian had kept things from Helga many times in the past to keep her happy. It wasn't something he enjoyed doing, but things became muddled and murky when she was involved.

"Excellent. All that is required of you is to keep doing what you do for her, provide her moral support and the ear of friendship, and _remember not to tell._ No matter what, Brian." Her voice was as serious as he'd ever heard it. "If she finds out at a critically unstable juncture in time _it will be disastrous._ Everything will be jeopardized, all of it, including your friendship to her, to everyone. We'll lose Helga."

Brian felt his breath stop short in his throat. What on earth was Arnold _doing_?

"Uh...I understand." Brian finally breathed out.

"Good. Now, Helga is going to have questions for you regarding the tense and secretive nature of our conversation. I have advised Helga to keep a safe barrier of distance between you two in the past, so if you fall on that excuse she won't suspect anything. We'll handle the rest at the diner. Rendezvous with us there ASAP."

"Uh...Us?" Brian was more and more confused.

"Gerald and myself. It's time to illuminate you both on the plan. And please, Brian, _don't tell Helga._ " Brian then heard the other line go blank. Phoebe had suddenly hung up. He'd never heard such urgency in her before, even considering how high strung she was.

"What the hell was that?" Helga's strong, dark eyebrows were as high as they could manage to go, vanishing beneath her blonde bangs swept to the side.

"Talk on the way," Brian struggled to answer her. He knew he'd get the third degree the entire span of their short walk to the diner. Helga gave him a look that promised his premonition was correct.

Brian handed Helga her phone, and helped her up from her spot on the floor. He reached over and pulled his corduroy sportcoat off their vintage brass coat hanger, and got his keys to lock up. Helga, taking his cues, shoved her feet into her pink converse and grabbed her bag.

The two of them left their apartment, and headed to the diner.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy my story so far, please leave a comment. Updates will be slow, but should come at least once a month, until we catch up to the end.


	3. Chapter 3 - The Orphan They Cut in Half

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phoebe and Gerald reconnect over troubling news. The planned Bigal's Diner meeting progresses. Stratagems are discussed and executed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Another POV shift. Expect these, this is the primary device through which I manage my story's narrative.

 

"The more you love a memory the stronger and stranger it becomes" - Vladimir Nabokov

* * *

Phoebe Heyerdahl could hardly believe what she was hearing, that if she had not trusted the source of information so unconditionally, she would reject the thought utterly out of hand.

She was sitting opposite Gerald Johanssen, her long-time friend and ex boyfriend, simply at a loss of words immediately following the bombshell that the handsome young man dropped on her. The pretty, petite girl was finally able to register that she was staring at Gerald, who was staring back, and for an instant the intimacy of their gaze was enough to cause her to break eye contact and look down at her gently steaming cup of Oolong tea.

"Yeah, it shocked me too," Gerald finally said. She could hear the hint of disappointment in him, the slight acid of a bitter memory. He was clearly affected and upset by the news, which also surprised Phoebe. "When Arnold told me I nearly flew myself down there to smack some sense into him."

"But if what you assert is truthful, Gerald, don't you think we should immediately inform Helga?" Her thoughts immediately fell to her best friend, who had been pining miserably for ten years over the foolish, heroic young man in question. Phoebe had been there for it all, closest to the misery and the drama, had helped Helga over the years work herself up from a vast, cavernous depression into what was a manageable baseline level of simple misery. It had taken every lesson in patience Phoebe ever learned from her father to pull off.

Now, though, everything was threatening to unravel. Phoebe's primary interest was to get ahead of the coming disaster, and set mitigating forces in play before it made landfall and drowned everyone.

"Actually, that's the biggest reason I called you up," Gerald started. He had her undivided attention, of course, when he called her out of the blue and asked her to get coffee and pie with him.. She had no trace of bitterness over the end of their high school romance-it had happened simply too long ago for the mature, intelligent girl to bear Gerald any ill will. It helped that she was still very attracted to him, and still counted him as one of her closest friends. They spoke often enough since Phoebe ended up in the Ivy League University of her choice, but distance had a way of drifting old friends - even lovers - apart. She was all too happy to take the chance to drive the short trip back to Hillwood, see Helga, and have a coffee date with Gerald again. She had not been anticipating the reason could be _this._

"See, I think my man Arnold is making a mistake." Phoebe's slender eyebrows lifted over the rim of her glasses when he confessed his analysis. "I always said he was a bold kid, but don't you think he's too young, too nice, and too _selfless_ to make this kind of decision and not tell anyone?"

"Gerald, I'm sure that Arnold has carefully weighed the advantages and disadvantages of the possible scenarios and settled on the most equitable outcome for all the parties involved. Why do you assume he has made his choice in a vacuum? Doesn't he have the watchful guidance of his mother and father from which to draw wisdom?"

"That's the thing, Pheebs, he hasn't told them yet."

Phoebe almost squeaked with surprise, she was so taken off guard by that revelation. Arnold was honest to a _fault_ and totally incapable of guile. Besides the anomalous April Fool's Day incident, he had never managed to trick Phoebe or Helga or _anyone._ The fact that he had managed to keep something _this_ significant from his parents made Phoebe uneasy.

She smoothed out the black pencil skirt she was wearing, looking at her galaxy print leggings as she unraveled the scenario for digestion and the best next steps. She noticed that Gerald watched her with interest, and felt a private little thrill that she was getting to spend some private time with him again.

_Focus, Phoebe. What is imperative is that you are able to successfully navigate the emotional maelstrom that is sure to come when Helga finds out. Consider the alternatives, and calculate the variable scenarios to ensure that the damage is minimized._

Gerald cleared his throat, and Phoebe jumped, caught in her woolgathering and dissembling.

"So...I think I have a plan,:" Gerald carefully began. "Arnold's said he's coming back to Hillwood." Phoebe's eyes widened. _That_ complicated things. "So, I say, we stir the pot."

"Stir the...pot?" Phoebe scrunched her nose at the colloquialism. She wasn't sure how it applied in this specific scenario.

"Yeah, girl, stir the pot. Listen, what is Arnold if not a busybody? And he practically can't help himself when he sees trouble, right?"

Phoebe nodded, her mind racing forward along Gerald's suggested path, seeing in advance where he was going with this.

"So you suggest that we get Arnold and Helga together, and allow the immediate dramatic upheaval to unravel Arnold's intended course of action."

"Hey, it could happen." Gerald's easy smile spread wide. Phoebe's cheeks flushed slightly, but she continued.

"Do you perhaps think that exposure to Helga will cause Arnold to rethink what you assert he has spent little time considering already, and perhaps...bring them together?"

Gerald shrugged for her. "I dunno man. I really don't. Helga's _Helga._ Helga G. Pataki, we're talking about. Who knows what that girl's gonna do when she sees Arnold again." Phoebe knew. Helga would explode like a shell volcano that had been building geologic pressure over eons. "But what I _do_ know is that my man is being too bold here. Nobody in this world sets him straight faster than Helga G. Pataki."

Phoebe had to admit, the idea was cunning, if less than subtle. But the plan was too precipitous; if neither of the two performed to the expected behaviors, nothing would come of it. It needed augmentation to have any chance of success.

"Gerald, forgive my impertinence in asking, but you still possess the little black book with Fuzzy Slippers' dossiers within, correct?" Gerald's right eyebrow cocked.

"Yeah, why? What's it got to do with this?"

"Well, while I have determined that there is merit in your suggestion, I would posit that the probable outcomes are too varied and unpredictable. If we simply arrange for those two to have some serendipitous rendezvous, it is just as likely that Helga, in her panic, will push him away again. And then Arnold's fate is sealed, I am afraid."

Gerald thought about what she said, then nodded when he fully grasped the meaning of it.

"To that end, I suggest that we utilize the resources at hand; Let us make use of the ciphers that we've managed to decode thus far, and wield the influence it affords us over Hillwood. For the _best_ of intentions, of course."

Gerald's eyebrow cocked ever higher. He rubbed at the close-shaven beard on his jaw. Phoebe knew it was a gamble. Using that book was risky in and of itself.

"Could be an idea, Pheebs, could be an idea. You thinkin' we bring everybody back together?"

"Precisely."

Gerald folded his strong arms over his red jersey. Phoebe couldn't help herself; she examined the strong cords of muscles that roped from his biceps to his wrists. Gerald had always been athletic, but he really approached scholastic sports with enthusiasm now that he was in college. It had been effective in augmenting his already considerable attractiveness to Phoebe.

"Let's say we throw Arnold a 'Welcome Home' party?" Phoebe nodded at Gerald's suggestion. It was a good idea. A large, significant social gathering, liberally lubricated by alcohol and populated by a lifetime's supply of old friends, rivals, and crushes. It was the ideal environment to expose Arnold to Helga and let sparks fly.

"We need to get Helga's band to play at the party," Gerald suddenly blurted out. Phoebe jumped at his suggestion, and then furiously worked out in her thoughts what that would accomplish, and what it risked.

"I think that is a very high risk, high reward scenario. If you have observed any of Helga's songs, you would hopefully be astute enough to immediately recognize the subject matter as almost exclusively Ice Crea-er, I mean, Arnold."

Gerald nodded, enthusiastically. "Yeah, exactly! How you think that's gonna make my man Arnold feel, when after ten years of writing Helga all those letters and getting nothing back, he comes to the party and she's up on stage singin' about how bad she's got it for him?" Phoebe thought that Gerald had adjusted remarkably well to the thought of Helga having feelings for Arnold; when he initially discovered Arnold _kissing_ Helga when they were ten in the jungles of San Lorenzo, Phoebe vividly remembered the hyperventilation, the shrieking, and the manic rants against this reality as being impossible according to every known law of creation. And here he was, frankly including what he thought he knew about Helga's feelings in the difficult equation of Arnold plus Helga.

"I can only imagine the turmoil that would bring to his heart. If he was unsure in the slightest about his chosen course of action, it would certainly suffice enough to give him pause. Perhaps rethink his decision entirely."

"And you throw in everybody from PS118, all unloading all their pent up shit from the years? Arnold's a trouble magnet. Guarantee at the end of the night he's thinking about moving back to Hillwood."

"That is definitely a possible outcome," Phoebe nodded. She sipped at her now cooling tea. The woody flavor and slightly astringent bitterness refreshed her mind. "But we must remain mindful of the fact that when Helga finds out, her reaction will likely be a violent outburst. Perhaps Arnold has matured enough to weather such a reaction, but if there is confusion within him it might harden his heart all the same. And then we are faced with the original dilemma, without any means of escape."

"Shit. This is too hard, man. I'm not meant for this kind of thing." Gerald took a deep breath, leaning back in the booth to look at the ceiling. Phoebe looked at his large Adam's apple, then up at his brown eyes.

"Luckily you have me, an expert on such maneuvering," Phoebe cheerfully sighed. Even though what they faced was serious, irreversible, and disastrous, she couldn't help but admit she still enjoyed Gerald's company as much as when they were dating. Of course, when she got into University, they amicably parted, both recognizing that the challenges of a long distance relationship would mostly likely only serve to end their friendship. It had been at this exact diner, in fact, in this same booth that they had embraced once last time as lovers, and then shook hands again as friends.

And though she rarely made bold moves herself, the sometimes sneaky Phoebe felt like she didn't want the evening to simply be about Arnold and Helga.

"You have become very handsome in six months, Gerald," she finally said.

Gerald lifted his head up and looked at her, a little smile on his face. "Oh yeah? Did I?"

"Indeed. I'm very glad you called me, regardless of the unpleasant matter at hand. Strategizing with you is very…" Phoebe ran her finger along the ceramic rim of her teacup. "stimulating."

Gerald's eyebrows waggled, and then he smiled one of his trademark smooth smiles at her. Phoebe had to stifle a giggle, she was so tickled by his reaction.

"Well hell, baby. Why don't we call it a night for Arnold, and start the night over, just us like old times?"

Phoebe's eyes flashed with excitement over the rims of her glasses. That interested her a great deal. The rest of the details of the plan could wait. After all, Gerald had invited her for drinks and dessert, and she would satisfy her sweet tooth.

* * *

Phoebe and Gerald sat in the booth together at Bigal's Diner, on the side facing the door so that they could see Helga and Brainy coming. it had been a little less than a month ago that they had met here for the first time in six months to discuss the situation with Arnold. Phoebe blushed privately at the memory of how that night had concluded, very aware of the male presence of Gerald sitting next to her. His hand was on her knee casually while he drank his coffee. The secretive, intimate contact thrilled her.

"They better get here soon," he sighed into his steaming cup.

"I stressed the urgency of the matter to both Helga and Brian," Phoebe assured him. "I especially stressed to Brian the importance of not revealing the truth to Helga, should he somehow discover the secret."

"Good call, Pheebs. That guy don't say much? But he listens too _damn_ much. Who knows what he'll find out."

"Even if he were to discover everything, it is unlikely that he would jeopardize the plan by telling Helga. I, uh, put the fear in him."

Gerald laughed briefly, but became very serious as he saw the darting flash of blonde in the window. The two of them straightened up right away, hands above the table, preparing for when Helga would storm in.

She didn't disappoint. The glass door slammed open, the little bell above the entryway jingling out of control at the nearly tectonic violence of the motion. She was soaked, of course, because the late Summer weather had picked up into a steady unseasonal rain. It somehow added to the terror of her entrance, like a literal feminine force of oceanic nature had burst in and would lay her terrible vengeance on all she surveyed. Phoebe felt her heart leap into her throat-somehow even after decades of friendship, Helga always managed to shock and surprise her with her level of Amazonian ferocity.

"Alright, start talking right the fuck now, Froboy!" Helga demanded, slamming her wet messenger bag onto the booth table and leaning over them menacingly. Phoebe watched Helga stare down Gerald many times in the past, but rarely had he literally _withered_ under her as he was doing now, shrinking like a dried up slug beneath a harsh and angry sun.

Phoebe started to talk, noting that Brainy had walked up behind Helga to loom above them, silent features quiescent and simply observing.

"Helga, calm down and take a seat. We're going to calmly share a slice of pie, and then we'll discuss what is going on in exhaustive detail. Threatening Gerald is neither productive nor necessary."

Helga shot Phoebe a hot, angry look. Helga rarely, if ever, got mad at Phoebe. It was always about Arnold when she did. Phoebe swallowed the awkward fear she felt when her best friend was in a fury, and stared back up at her. Helga seemed to calm down a bit when Phoebe didn't back down, and then shoved herself into the booth, crossing her arms over her pink flannel shirt clinging to her chest.

"Alright fine. You want to calmly share some pie, then you're buying, Froboy. I want it a la mode, too, and don't skimp on the whipped cream."

Gerald sighed, not daring to roll his eyes but still visibly frustrated.

"Yeah, sure Pataki. You want anything, Brian?" He nodded to the tall boy that had managed to sit in the booth next to Helga without Phoebe noticing.

Brainy shook his head, and in the brief pause in the conversation, Phoebe grabbed the reins of control and began to explain to Helga and Brian the carefully chosen details of their plan, selectively opting to omit the specific pieces about Arnold's secret.

* * *

"Where you goin', girl?" Gerald's voice was playful and sleepy in the darkness as Phoebe slipped from the bed and started to dress.

"We still have a lot to work out, Gerald, and I thought I could energize our minds with a pot of fresh tea." Phoebe finished slipping her skirt onto her hips, smiling at the boy who lounged just barely covered by the sheets of his bed. His athletic form thrilled her, even now, but she had tasks at hand to prioritize her attentions.

"Mm, mm-mm!" Gerald tsked. "You're like the Energizer bunny. Between you and Arnold, Gerald Johanssen is headed to an early grave." Gerald flashed his white teeth, and rolled over onto his stomach to gather his clothing as well.

Phoebe made her way quietly into the frat house kitchen. She was sure that girlfriends-was that what she was now?-were no stranger to these walls, but it still felt slightly _intrepid_ to find herself stalking barefoot through the old wooden hallways to heat up a late night pot of tea. When she had the single teapot she could find on the burner, quietly rolling to a steam, she had a moment to thoughtfully chew on the Arnold problem.

 _There are variables we do not know, and variables we don't know that we don't know._ She chewed on her thumb, her thoughts always fell to her favorite strategists when she was having trouble. _If we bait Arnold out, he may reveal the reasons behind his decision. But it carries a lot of risk, and relies upon the trust he has in us._ Phoebe frowned as the teapot whistled itself into readiness.

That was the hardest part. Deceiving their closest friends. If their plan was going to have any chance at all, it would necessitate the careful manipulation of their two best friends, and people they loved. _Nobody would be lying,_ she reasoned with herself. _Appropriate dissemination of intelligence is strategy 101. And it is for a noble cause._

That last thought made her pause as she was scooping the loose leaf tea she found into the teapot. _Was_ it a noble cause? That was one of those known unknowns, she recognized. They didn't know why Arnold would do something so dramatic, so permanent like this, so unannounced. _Arnold at least thinks he has a good reason. It is important for us to discover his reason right away._

Phoebe walked the quiet solitary stroll back to Gerald's room, closing the door behind her and setting the tea set on his desk.

"Bless the baby angel responsible for days like today," Gerald sighed. Phoebe stifled another giggle with her hand, handing him the small cup of steaming hot green tea.

"We need to find out why Arnold is doing this first, Gerald."

He blew over his teacup, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I know. My man's _got_ to have what he _thinks_ is a good reason."

Phoebe finally spoke her biggest worry aloud. "What if he is sincere, and this will make him happy? We would be dishonoring our friendship to him...we would be dishonoring our friendship to Helga."

Gerald sipped at the tea, wincing a little at the bitter flavor. He always did that, but he never argued with Phoebe when she poured him a cup.

"I've thought about that...believe me. It's all I think about. If he's serious, and this is gonna make him happy, then all we can do is cheer him on. And I'll be there." Phoebe nodded, feeling the same way. "But," he started, and she felt hopeful. "I don't hear that in his voice. He sounds _tired_. I'd be, I dunno, _excited._ Happy. Pumped, hell, I'd be pretty much any kind of way but _tired as hell._ "

Phoebe nodded, settling down on his bed next to Gerald. The details of the plan she had spent the better part of their evening together ruminating on began to take shape in her mind. She had to test them out on the most reliable source she had. Gerald. "I propose that we compose our plan in three stages. The first stage is the preliminary reintroduction of Arnold to Hillwood, and in particular Helga."

"Keep talking, beautiful, I love when you get all Patton on me." Phoebe swatted at Gerald for his flirtatious comment.

"Remain focused, Gerald. The second stage requires the exact opposite; _isolation._ " Phoebe used her hands to pantomime the motion of segregating Arnold from the rest of Hillwood for emphasis. Gerald held his lightly bearded chin thoughtfully. Phoebe thought it gave him a distinguished look, even if she knew it was grown merely for the superstitious purposes of his baseball team's winning streak.

"Isolation? What's your game? I thought we wanted Arnold _around_ everybody."

"We want precisely that. But recall that Arnold is most troubled when he knows problems exist and yet can do nothing about them - if we devise a way to suddenly segregate him from the majority of the class of PS118, I believe the result will be a _multiplicative_ increase if effect on his hopefully wayward heart."

"Phoebe, he's spent ten years away. I think he can handle a little bit more."

"Ignorance has shielded him from the details of all the problems left unresolved. Arnold is at heart an optimist; I am sure he convinced himself that his presence was ultimately not necessary to Hillwood, and that everybody got along just fine."

"So we show Arnold that isn't the case, then keep him from being able to fix anything."

"Precisely."

Gerald leaned back against the headboard of his bed, folding his hands behind his small, carefully groomed afro. He started to nod as he began to digest the particular genius of her suggestion. Now all they needed was the right leverage. Of that, he had plenty.

"I think I see what you mean, Pheebs, but, what about this? I feel like we need to make this second phase a two-parter."

Phoebe tucked her silken black hair behind her ear and glasses. She was intrigued by Gerald's suggestion, and impressed that she found such a worthy partner in this venture in Gerald. He'd always been one for _telling_ grand schemes; Phoebe was surprised and delighted that he was beginning to be as adept at planning them.

"Make your proposal, then," she smiled at him.

"I think we need to keep Arnold away from everybody - _except Helga G. Pataki_." Gerald smiled back at her, obviously pleased with himself.

"Interesting. You're suggesting that we saturate exposure to Helga, a known pressure point and, we are presuming, a weakness in his heart, while simultaneously removing him from any agency vis a vis the conflicts he encounters at the party between our old friends of PS118."

Gerald didn't seem surprised that she saw right through the heart of it.

"I'll call in favor number two with Pataki, and maybe the four of us spends a weekend at the Pataki beach house."

Phoebe's smile widened quite a bit. _Gerald you are beautiful,_ she thought. She had no argument with this suggestion. It was brilliance, elegance defined. It accomplished all the desired goals for phase two, and had the added bonus of providing everybody with a much-needed vacation in the final weeks of Summer.

"Gerald...do I need to tell you how brilliant that is?" Phoebe just shook her head with a kind of puzzled joy. They had _never_ communicated so effectively before. Somehow, the Gerald before her was ten times more attractive than the Gerald she remembered from high school.

"Yeah, at least one more time. And besides, we don't know if phase one will even work. We might be planning for something that will never happen."

"Yes. That is very true…" Phoebe felt the wind in her sails falter a little, and had to remember they were dealing in very high stakes.

She stared at the mess of the tea leaves at the bottom of her cup, wondering if one could really tell the future by the pattern of their scattering. Such augury would have made everything exceedingly simpler.

* * *

"We want to convince Arnold to stay in Hillwood," Phoebe calmly began.

"Yeah, I gathered that one," Helga rudely interrupted, chewing her piece of cherry pie. Somehow her anger still seemed like a viable threat, soaked as she was from the late summer showers.

"Well, the details of this plan are extremely _particular._ If steps are taken out of order or if we start improvising the whole operation unravels, to quite the dramatic conclusion." Phoebe felt that she was legitimately frustrated with Helga. It was rare that her best friend ever pushed her to this extreme level of consternation. Phoebe knew it was because Helga hated being in the dark about anything, especially things involving Ice Cream.

"Well it's all perfectly lovely that you and _Geraldo_ cooked up some kind of cockamamy chess game to play with Hair Boy, but I deeply _resent_ the fact that I am apparently one of your _pawns_." Helga was jabbing a piece of pie at the end of her long fork at Phoebe in dramatic intervals, emphasizing her point quite literally at the end of steel.

"Well to be fair, Helga, you are not _a pawn_ , if I borrow your analogy. You are closer to _the queen._ "

Helga's eyebrow arched up. Phoebe could tell that she liked that. One of the surest ways to get in with Helga was flattery; she couldn't help but enjoy praise and positive attention when she was used to never receiving attention at all.

"Keep talking, I like the sound of this." Helga continued to dig into the pie, her temper seeming to fade. Everybody visibly relaxed when she finally started to ease up.

"Gerald and I have worked together on what we think is the best strategy for convincing Arnold not only that he wants to stay in Hillwood, but that Hillwood _needs_ him back."

"Yeah, like Pheebs said," Gerald interjected, "it's all about helping Arnold remember why he loved it here, and why most of our messed up lives went to the pot without him."

Helga chewed her pie slowly, glancing at Brainy. Phoebe wasn't sure what that look meant-the relationship between her best friend and her best friend's one-time stalker always puzzled her. She wasn't sure what to make of their bonds, though she could tell they ran deeply. She reminded herself to scrutinize Brainy a lot closer in the time she was in Hillwood working on the plan.

"Alright...this all sounds really _neat_ and _tidy_ and all, but, how am I the queen of the board? I'm assuming Arnold is the king."

Phoebe nodded. "Yes, you are correct. The game is won by capturing the king, so, in this respect, your analogy is accurate. We are attempting to capture Arnold such that he has no escape that does not itself lead to his capture. In this continued analogy, you are the queen because you are the most valuable piece, and the most dangerous to the opposition. You are the focus of most of the plans, because your relationship with Arnold is so..." Phoebe hesitated, grasping for the right word. "Singular."

"Groovy. Really, that's great, Pheebs, and props to you and Gerald for all the brilliance, yadda yadda yadda...only, Chess isn't a one player game. Who are you playing against?"

Phoebe stiffened in the booth next to Gerald. She hadn't anticipated Helga cutting through the analogy so acutely. She wasn't surprised, Helga was always at least her intellectual match, but her focus on the creative pursuits of art, music, and literature kept her brilliance focused further away from the raw _logic_ puzzles Phoebe was used to.

"And for that matter, how does this," Helga slipped the piece of paper she got from Arnold on the table in front of them, "factor into the game?"

Phoebe and Gerald leaned forward to read what was on the paper. Brainy didn't move, apparently already aware of what was written on it.

" _Christmas Day. We say goodbye."_

Phoebe's eyes narrowed. So, they had their time limit now. Gerald looked at Phoebe with concern. This put a lot of pressure on their plans.

Helga chewed last piece of flakey golden crust of her pie, watching the two of them with what appeared to be casual interest. Phoebe was impressed that Helga managed to so thoroughly sequester the agony she must feel thanks to that note. Yet again, Phoebe was surprised by her long time best friend.

Phoebe sighed, closing her eyes for a moment, about to spill the whole sad tale to Helga. She felt Gerald's hand on her shoulder, looking at him for some support. He wasn't even looking at her.

"Arnold's not staying here. That's when he's going back - or moving on to his next destination." Gerald didn't even have to lie, even if that wasn't the full story. Phoebe was relieved.

"So you've got about five months left." Helga pushed the empty plate away from herself. She sounded tired, weary. As if she was already done with all of this, because she saw how it ended in advance, and was merely going through the sad motions for their benefit.

"Why don't we start with a brief summary of how your meeting with Arnold went," Phoebe began. "That way, we have a baseline of where to begin."

Helga didn't seem impressed or hurried to get to her story.

"Nah, I don't think so, Phoebe."

Gerald and Phoebe looked at each other, puzzled. Brainy pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose.

"Look, Arnold's got a life now. He seems happy. He has his mom and dad and an entire _continent_ all to himself. We can't just _decide_ to keep him."

Gerald scowled. "Now wait just a damn minute, Pataki, you said you were in earlier. What gives?"

"Look," Helga sighed, clearly wearied. "I _want_ him to stay. Of course I do. Arnold's like the freaking glue that kept Hillwood from flying apart. You were all here when he left. You know how everybody just _tore_ into each other. I've never heard of a more vicious pack of sixth graders, like little _hyenas_ with the scent of blood."

Phoebe remembered. It was bad. Without Arnold, the ever-positive, always helpful, only-sees-the-best-in-people _hero_ around, things got exceptionally malicious. Rhonda basically went out of control with her cruel gossip, Curly _totally_ lost touch with reality after a nasty breakdown and moved away, and without Arnold around to keep them humble, the bullies of PS118 grew to be legitimately nasty. The examples just continued: Harold and Big Patty were full blown street-dwelling crustpunks; Sid dropped out of high school to run a pawn shop, and Stinky became his hipster artist lacky; Nadine fled Hillwood in Highschool to get away from Rhonda; Eugene gave up on acting and drama and worked in a cheesy, sketchy magic shop, disgraced and humiliated by unfortunate love affairs. And  _then_ there was the mysterious figure behind it all, whom they never caught. Their teenage years could have been significantly more peaceful and typical had Arnold been around. Yet, not a single person that knew him would begrudge his decision to stay with his parents. Least of all Helga, Phoebe knew, though she was the one most heartbroken.

"And you know what?" Helga's voice dropped into that seldom-heard level of sincerity, the rarest of jewels from a Pataki. "If he stayed, I can't tell you if there would be a single happier person on the planet than Helga Geraldine Pataki." Her voice returned to its typical level of acidic sarcasm. "But I'm not going to _manipulate_ him like this was a game. That's not how Helga plays ball. I step up to the plate and swing like hell; if I miss, I miss."

Phoebe had to respect the Helga sitting in front of her. Nine year old Helga would have no difficulty using all manner of subterfuge and obfuscation to manipulate Arnold into staying here. But this Helga was simply different. Principled. And she would not deviate from her principles, now that she was able to find them. Clearly, a softer touch would be necessary to convince her. Phoebe was puzzling over the best approach when Gerald interrupted her woolgathering with a typical Johanssen frank and straight-to-the-point question aimed at Helga.

"Just what _is_ my man Arnold to you, anyway, Pataki?"

Phoebe held her breath. Gerald didn't know it, but that was a dangerous question in itself. Helga was what they called in Japan a _tsundere_ ; cold and hostile to the object of their affections before they were able to warm up and become sincere in their feelings. when challenged, a textbook _tsundere_ like Helga was extremely likely to default to the dishonest, cold aloofness and hostility as a self-defense mechanism. She watched Helga's cheeks redden, and her tall, beautiful friend become visibly flustered at the question. Phoebe braced herself for a string of sailor-withering obscenities.

She was stupefied when Helga responded in quiet, reverent sincerity: "I'm in love with him, probably." Brainy looked away, his face red.

Phoebe _couldn't_ believe that Helga has confessed, the act was so unthinkable it forced her to totally re-evaluate their tactical positioning in their plans. If Helga was owning up to her feelings, it could only be because she felt like she had nothing left to lose.

If she felt like she had nothing left to lose, it was likely because Helga had already given up all hope on Arnold. A significant problem.

Gerald nodded at her answer. "Yeah, I mean, I figured so. After the jungle thing, I just couldn't deny the evidence anymore. Well. If you love the guy, why not tell him?" Phoebe scolded herself for getting distracted; Gerald was heading down a path that had only a closed door at the end of it; she needed to help steer Helga away from anything that seemed _final._

"Let's table that question for now, Gerald," Phoebe diplomatically interrupted. Helga gave her a thankful look, clearly not comfortable with the current topic. "Instead, let's tell Helga everything that we can at this stage," she began, eyeing Gerald with purposeful significance as she carefully chose her wording. "And bring her and Brainy up to speed, so that there's no confusion or misunderstandings or anyone _jumping to conclusions._ " Phoebe prayed that Gerald caught the emphasis on the last bit.

Helga seemed satisfied with this. "I'll listen, but I can't promise I'll do anything other than what I've already agreed to. So don't get your hopes up."

Phoebe swallowed, hesitating to begin her explanation. Hope was all she had left at this point.

* * *

"Alright, so, what do we do about Lila?" Gerald ran his fingers along Phoebe's arm idly, thrilling her flesh at the simple contact. She lost herself for just a moment in the intimate gesture. It gave her butterflies, even as they lay nearly skin-to-skin like they were.

She brought herself to address his question, though she was loathe to focus on anything other than his large hands.

"Lila Sawyer is a problem," Phoebe agreed. She had to sit up, off of Gerald, in order to focus. They had been talking and planning and _enjoying_ each other's company for the majority of the day and well into the late night. Now three teapots in, both of them were quite tired, but had worked through almost all the possible scenarios and come to agree on almost all necessary courses of action. Where they didn't agree, Phoebe made a mental note to simply out-maneuver Gerald. Lila was one of those areas she anticipated needing to out-maneuver him.

"That's an _understatement_ , Pheebs. Sawyer is _the_ problem."

Phoebe bit her thumb, nodding in agreement. For all their careful planning and excellent strategies, if they didn't neutralize or otherwise segregate Lila from the equation, there were going to be _complications._

"Obviously, she cannot come to the beach house," Phoebe started with the most basic, understood information. "I am unsure if her presence at the party would be deleterious to our desired effect or not; it would certainly create significant friction between Arnold and Helga. Perhaps enough to jeopardize the whole plan."

"I just can't see convincing Arnold that she can't come. Even if she hasn't lived in Hillwood in years."

Phoebe nodded. Most of the class of PS118 that moved outside of the city limits was not coming. There were exceptions; Curly was making a _point_ to peel away from his brokerage firm in New York to flaunt his newfound wealth, for example. But Lila had moved back to the country home she originally left when they graduated middle school. She simply hadn't been a part of their circle of friends for very long, so Gerald hadn't used his considerable influence to keep tabs on her. Now, Phoebe wished she had stressed to Gerald to keep it up, just in case. They were deeply regretting that he had not, because they knew virtually nothing of her coming and going, her life after Hillwood. And how _this_ happened with Arnold.

"It will be difficult. I think it is important to delay reintroducing Lila to the equation as much as possible. We know we have a limited amount of time, but we don't have an exact date. It's possible that Lila will elect to stay in her hometown until we get much closer to our deadline."

Even as she said it, Phoebe knew it was wishful thinking.

"I don't know, we're being awfully careful with everything else to get sloppy here, babe."

"Obviously, if our goal is to disrupt Arnold's decision and convince him to stay in Hillwood rather than return to South America," Phoebe began slowly, working out the solution as she spoke it. "Anything that segregates Lila from Hillwood and Arnold is worth exploring. I propose that we contact her directly.."

Gerald sat up on his bed, surprise obvious on his bearded face.

" _Contact her?_ Aren't we trying to _avoid_ her? What good is there in dropping her a line?"

Phoebe put her hand on Gerald's knee to calm him.

"Lila Sawyer, despite all the trouble she is causing, is perhaps the precise individual that we can fully disclose the entirety of our plan to without fear of any disruption or interference." Phoebe remembered Helga's story about her confession to Lila before the Romeo and Juliet performance. Lila had been happy to step aside that time. Phoebe was confident that tendency wasn't a fluke or whim.

Gerald blinked in the darkness, looking very tired. "Huh? Now you've really lost me, Pheebs. How in the world is telling _Lila Sawyer_ our plan for Arnold _anything_ but disruptive?"

"Her positive, helpful nature," Phoebe began slowly, "affords us the luxury of brutal, punishing honesty. With Arnold, we need to move him around carefully to expose him bit-by-bit to the different stages of the plan. With Helga, we have to strictly segregate wholecloth entire phases until the critical moment. With Lila Sawyer, however," she turned to face Gerald squarely. "We can count on her being not only willing to allow us our attempt, but will possibly wish to _assist_ us."

"How do you figure?" Gerald watched Phoebe, hope and confusion clear on his face.

"She will want Arnold to make his decision with perfect clarity. If we announce our intentions, the odds of her telling Arnold are very high, but the odds are just as good that she will elect to encourage the events to play out. I feel like her sense of honor and destiny are weaknesses we can exploit."

Gerald scrutinized Phoebe. She felt slightly embarrassed by the attention.

"I don't know, Pheebs, it's bold, but maybe _too_ bold. What if she just tells Arnold everything? He'll know the whole plan and then the jig is up."

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Gerald. We are being extremely careful in all the other factors. We can afford _one_ reckless move, as a probe. I feel we have little choice; we either proactively attack and force a move, or we wait for the executioner's axe to fall at some unknown time."

"You're crazy." Gerald was grinning.

"No, Gerald, I just play a lot of Go." Phoebe giggled at his puzzled expression. Go was one of the ways she and her father had bonded during her teenage years. It helped her connect to her Japanese roots, and helped teach her many lessons in life. She had become quite strong at the game, but had little time to indulge in the hobby once she started University.

She was especially thankful she had the background in the world's oldest, most complex board game as she worked on this plan with Gerald.

"Okay...I think this is crazy, but I'll bite. When do we tell Lila?"

"As soon as possible. The sooner we have her explicit buy-in, the sooner we can begin preparing for the rest."

"I think I'm free next weekend. I can find out where she's shacked up. We can make a trip of it."

Phoebe liked that idea very much. However, the thought of another weekend, intimately alone with Gerald, executing their exciting subterfuge together, and in all probability spending multiple evenings together _bothered_ her somehow. Phoebe stood up from Gerald's bed. It was important they address the evening's _encounters_ and what they meant before they planned for some quasi-romantic interlude out of state together.

"Gerald...what do you feel about _this_?" Phoebe was usually exceptionally articulate. When she was attempting to communicate her feelings, however, she found herself less than eloquent.

Gerald needed more information. "Huh? I feel alright, I said I would go along with the idea. I think it's too risky, but," Phoebe held a hand up, stopping him.

"No, Gerald, about _us._ " Gerald looked at her, his mouth shutting without further comment. His face grew troubled. It had been _Phoebe_ that suggested they separate post graduation. Gerald was less than excited about the idea, to say the least, but had been finally willing to concede that they were better off as friends than ex-lovers.

Phoebe wrung her hands together at her waist. She was suddenly very worried that Gerald thought she was _easy_ or _slutty._ They weren't officially in a relationship and she had allowed-no, initiated-a physical encounter. Did he see her as an easily accessible source of physical _relief_? Had she set a precedent, in his mind, that she was available for casual encounters?

Gerald stood up from his bed, moving across his room to walk past the very anxious, very worried Phoebe Heyerdahl.

He leaned against the closed door, crossing his arms over his chest. She didn't turn to look at him, but he began to talk just the same.

"Phoebe, you are gonna have to physically _move_ me out of the way before I let you out of here, still single and not my girl."

Phoebe whipped around, looking at Gerald with surprise and scrutiny.

"So just try it, shrimp." He flashed her his characteristic grin, and Phoebe fell onto him with enthusiasm.

 _This, at least, makes sense._ Phoebe sighed as Gerald embraced her, lifting her off the floor.

* * *

"So that's why you're having me play this party?" Helga sounded legitimately surprised.

"Basically," Gerald's air of casual self-confidence impressed Phoebe. They had just explained every nuance of the party to Helga. They hadn't begun to explain phase two or phase three. So far, Helga seemed to be on board. She had plenty of questions, of course, but had kept her probing friendly, even.

"Alright...I'm still in. I'll go to this party, and Orphan will even play it. Hell, Briany can DJ, we'll bring the karaoke machine, whole nine yards. I'll even _dress up_ all sexy and blow little Arnoldo's football shaped head right off." Phoebe grinned as Helga continued to offer her support.

"On _two_ conditions." Helga put a finger on the table, tapping the surface for emphasis. "Gerald's playing bass, and I want ten minutes _guaranteed_ alone with Arnold. Non-negotiable, no interruptions. His little note pissed me off; if football head wants to say goodbye, I'll give him a send off he'll _never_ forget, on my own terms."

Gerald's eyes were wide. "Me? Playing bass?"

Brainy's eyes were wide as well. "Uh...ten minutes?"

Phoebe's smile was wide. "Done, and done."

"Waitaminute, Pheebs, I didn't agree to play with them," Gerald began to protest.

"Uh...ten minutes?" Brainy continued to voice his concern.

Phoebe reached across the table, her hand extended for Helga to shake. The two boys watched helplessly as Helga confidently, firmly took Phoebe's hand, and shook it hard to seal their bargain.

Phoebe relaxed internally. The pieces were in place. All they had to do now was play the first move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Big thank you to the artist again, Phoebe is amazing. The next chapter will contain 100% more Gerald, and, finally, some Arnold!


	4. Keeping Arnold: Chapter 4, Most Love Comes Second Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helga's band practices with some unexpected help. Romantic details are discovered. An old friend is visited. Arnold appears at last.

 

**"If we choose, we can live in a world of comforting illusion." - Noam Chomsky**

* * *

 

"Try to keep up, Geraldo, we ain't got all day to wait for you to catch up," Helga snarled at Gerald. Gerald was non-plussed, as a calloused habit of abuse from Pataki dulled him ages ago to anything but her sharpest weapons. He straightened the bass in his grasp, shaking his head and lifting his shoulders once.

"Look, I haven't played since freshman year," Gerald tried to defeat Helga's nastiness with reason. It sometimes worked. "And then it was for my cousin's hip hop project. You gotta cut me some slack, I'm not used to girl rock."

Gerald was in Helga's apartment with Brainy and Stoop Kid, practicing with Orphan for the party coming in just two days. A lot was left to prepare at his frat house, but the urgency of learning a set of twelve songs was pressure enough to keep him in Helga's company for pretty much every available moment he had.

"Shit in seven stacks, where'd this kid learn to play?" Stoop Kid irritably rolled the kick drum pedals, rumbling the floor with his impatience. The former bully was not exactly who Gerald envisioned playing up on the stage when he suggested Orphan play, but Helga insisted that Stoop Kid was the only one who could manage on such short notice. And Gerald had to admit, Stoop could play drums. So far, he had no trouble at all following Helga's instructions to the letter, even finding ways to creatively improvise and flourish in ways that Pataki praised.

Gerald was a lot rustier. He had a valid reason, though. He didn't have a lot of time to practice bass guitar between baseball, partying, frat duties, classes, and planning a mastermind plot with his ex-now-girlfriend to get his best friend to dump Lila Sawyer and move back home. He was swamped.

"Let's just start from the top. I want to run through 'Tibetan Pop Star' again." Helga shifted her stance back to the mic they had set up in her living room. Gerald had to admit that they had really done a bangup job setting up a practice studio in their tiny apartment in fairly little notice. He and Brainy had spent a fairly awkward, silent afternoon stapling sound proofing foam to their walls, hanging heavy blankets over windows and doors, and running cables and cords from amps and pedal systems to the handful of outlets in the two bedroom flat. They'd only gotten a single noise complaint in two days, and that was because they had forgotten to close one of the bedroom windows and seal it up. They'd been able to get in some really solid practice, and Gerald, always confident, had no doubt he'd be able to perform to Helga's standards on stage.

She still made him nervous.

The song began, Helga's voice following the leading melody she plucked out, and Gerald waited for the right bar to join in, concentrating, but his mind still found ways to occupy itself with other urgent issues.

I can't believe Lila went to South America after she moved. Gerald hit the exact note he needed to on time, and saw Helga's glance of approval as they continued through the song. It was true, he was shocked to learn that Lila had left her hometown after graduation and went to Arnold. It was almost out of character for her, and certainly one of the last things he'd ever expect to hear that she'd been up to.

What really surprised him, though, was that Arnold had kept her a secret for the better part of three years. Arnold was mum on why. In fact, Arnold was uncharacteristically silent on the issue altogether, besides his rather sudden and dramatic announcement regarding the redhead.

Gerald fell through the song's dramatic finale without any errors, finally having the hang of the jaunty bass line that followed the power-chord climax. When the song was over, he took a breath, reaching for a handkerchief to wipe his sweat-soaked forehead.

"Yo, what do you say we stop for a lunchbreak. I'm beat." Gerald needed a break. He needed to call Phoebe, first of all, and he needed to talk to Arnold. He hadn't seen his best friend since the first day he came to town, and he knew Arnold was busy catching up with Phil and Gertie, but he was still his oldest friend he hadn't seen in person in almost ten years. Even though time had managed to get in the way of how close they really were, he still imagined himself Arnold's life-long childhood bosom buddy, and wasn't about to let too much time pass without at least hanging out with him for old time's sake.

"Yeah, I could eat," Helga agreed. "Hey, Froboy, you're doing an alright job, for a total slacker. Against my better judgement, I'd say you just might managed to not embarrass me to death."

"Gee, thanks, Helga. You're ever too kind to little old me," Gerald gave his bitter reply. He had to admit to himself, even though Helga was bullish and unpleasant and never let an opportunity to humiliate or harass him go, she had her moments. He still couldn't see what Arnold saw in her ten years ago.

Or what he sees in her now. Gerald had to remind himself, Arnold had been extremely insistent the day he returned to Hillwood that he see Helga first. Maybe he just needed closure, Gerald reasoned as he drank from a bottle of tepid water Helga handed him. Brainy and Stoop Kid stepped out onto the balcony to hand roll some cigarettes, the unpleasant busker immediately opening his mouth to start talking trash about the party. Gerald never really liked Stoop Kid. He thought he was too mean, too cowardly, and too old to be worth his time. Arnold saw something in him Gerald didn't; a running theme in their friendship.

Gerald had decided the first day Arnold returned to find out what it was he saw in Helga, though. He needed to understand what made that attraction possible, if they were going to overcome the mountain that was Lila.

"Say, Pataki," Gerald began tentatively. He knew you had to be careful with her. She was older, and far less prone to actual physical violence than when they were elementary kids, but if you pushed Pataki too far she would let you know immediately, and in the least pleasant way you could imagine. "Can I ask you a kind of personal question?" Time to be bold.

"What is it Froboy?" she shot back with impatience. Helga was writing something down busily in a pink spiral notebook, barely paying attention to Gerald. He took it as permission to proceed.

"How come you never, I dunno, moved on in ten years? Didn't you like, date some dudes in high school? Sow your wild oats and whatnot? How do you even remember all that happened when we were in fourth grade?"

Helga stopped writing, looking up at Gerald with a scowl on her face. "Criminy, what is it with everybody and this stupid gradeschool crush I had ten years ago?" She huffed, visibly bothered. He saw that she wanted to be nasty by the twitch in her thick black eyebrows. Instead, she closed her eyes and sighed a deep, shaking sigh. She was calming herself down. Maybe she had matured.

"How exactly was I supposed to move on when the obsessive little shrimp wrote me letters constantly for six years?" She set her pencil down and leaned on her knees. Gerald was a little surprised, she was opening her body language to him. Him. He and Helga had never gotten on well. At best, they had a begrudging respect for one another, a silent agreement to stop fighting around Arnold when he was still around. Once he left, the gloves came off in middle school, and a few vicious altercations later and they basically never talked at all in high school.

Gerald remained silent, his stoic and curious expression the bait he hoped he needed to goad her in further.

"I mean, yeah I went on a couple of shitty dates with nobodies not worth mentioning. Had some laughs, even had a good cry or two. Hell, Brainy took me to prom." She smiled a little at the memory and looked out at the balcony to Brainy, who was pretending to listen to Stoop Kid's rant about yuppies while he watched Helga. Gerald noticed the pink in her cheeks. Interesting. Brainy and her have something going on deeper than we've considered. Gerald would need to tell Phoebe as soon as he left for lunch.

"But, I've cared about that stupid kid since we were three years old. It's not even something I have a choice in, really, it's a character trait by now. He's in my marrow." She paused, hesitating. He watched her features change, soften and then harden again, as she decided to open up to him. Gerald held his breath.

"It's like, he's out there, somewhere, and I will always think fondly of him and wish him well and fight like hell to make sure he's got it good wherever he is, if I can. But, I mean, it's all in the distant past now," she shrugged, looking back up at Gerald with her eyebrows high. "That's the only reason I'm okay with talking to you about it, by the way. I know you won't do something extremely foolish like make fun of me anymore, 'cause we're not kids, and 'cause you know better. Besides, there's no point in keeping a story with an ending a secret. Arnold's all grown up. And he grew up far away from me and you and everybody else. He's not ours anymore; he's not mine, he never was. So yeah, I care about him, in the same way I care about softball and music and poetry. Doesn't mean anything will come of it, or that it should."

"You could chase after him," Gerald suggested, wondering how much she knew about Lila. Gerald wagered she didn't know anything. He was about to find out.

"Yeah, that might have been an option in a fairy tale, Gerald." Her expression soured. She didn't know about Lila. "Don't make me regret telling you even one iota of my feelings, or you'll regret making me regret."

"Nah, I'm serious, Pataki. I'm not making fun, if you feel anything special for the boy, you should chase him." Gerald felt like he had a duty to give her the advice Arnold never could. He tried to tell her exactly what Arnold would. He felt he owed it to Arnold to try. "You were kids when you put your heart on the line, but you're not kids anymore. Maybe he has old or new romantic feelings for you, maybe not. It could happen. But you get nothing by just 'wishing him well' and 'remembering him,' in fact I think that's kind of selfish."

Helga's face screwed into a pissed-off scowl, the mask she wore when something hit too close to home. Gerald had seen it plenty of times as kids, he had just lacked the emotional toolkit to interpret her behavior back then. Not now, though. Gerald was, with perhaps the sole exception of Rhonda Wellington Lloyd, the best at unraveling social motivations in Hillwood. Years of gathering information in his little black book with the help of Fuzzy Slippers had given him remarkable insight. He knew Phoebe saw some of it when they worked on this plan together, but it had been hard for him not to tell Phoebe everything he knew.

Gerald was the coolest guy in Hillwood; he always played with a stacked deck and still made you think he'd fold every hand.

"Fuck off, Gerald." Helga stood up angrily, and Gerald watched her silently chew his advice and digest it. He knew he'd given her grade-A, unmistakably Arnold material. He knew what it would do to her. "And even if I did chase after him, don't you think it's a little foolish for a grown woman to get all over-the-moon loopy over someone she had a tiny crush on in fourth grade? I've grown, I've changed. I'm not the shrimpy bully from PS118 anymore."

Gerald thought she was remarkably similar to the bully from PS118 now, maybe so close to the mark it embarrassed Helga.

"You've been just as mean, nasty, and downright shitty to be around since you were three, Helga G. Pataki. Fuck you too if you don't wanna recognize that shit as the honest truth."

Helga smirked, her hand resting on her hip. He saw a look in her eyes, a spark of a challenge that crossed between them.

"Oh I'm just as tough as I used to be, tougher even. But the little girl you knew is gone; she died a long time ago. In a jungle. Alone."

Gerald remembered what happened to Helga immediately after Arnold left. Most of the kids in PS118 remembered. It was one of the reasons most of their group of friends scattered; watching a human being spiral into such a magnificent blossom of catastrophic self-destruction was really hard to do. Especially for ten year olds.

"You know this is the longest we've ever talked, Pataki? And even though it sickens me to admit, I see what Arnold meant all those times." Gerald gambled. He needed her to open up further. So far, he'd managed to get her to be especially frank with him. He was suspicious of it; it seemed too simple for her. Helga was a sealed vault buried under a continental plate at the bottom of the deepest ocean. Inaccessible. He knew for a fact nobody on the planet had heard some of the stuff she'd been telling him, except maybe Phoebe. Maybe Brainy, too, he corrected himself, remembering the discovery of their unique relationship.

"What the fuck do you mean, Froboy?" She seemed genuinely interested, a tiny mote of hope carried in her scratchy voice now raw from singing.

"Man, I hated you for the longest time. You were such a monster to everybody, especially my best friend, I couldn't see a single damn thing in you that was worthwhile." He shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. "And you know who, every damn time, would patiently correct me? Guide me gently, convince me somehow, every time that you weren't so bad, deep down?"

Helga's already large, expressive eyes were held large and fearful on her face. He knew he had her; she knew in her heart what he was about to say, but was anxious to hear it.

"Arnold Shortman. Every time. 'She's not so bad deep down, Gerald.' 'Helga is a good person when she's calmed down.' 'I know she doesn't mean it.'" Gerald scoffed, genuinely feeling the disbelief he was affecting. "Saint. I don't know why or how he had the patience. Maybe he's the reincarnated Buddha, fuck, the guy is practically the living embodiment of Zen. But every time you fucked with our lives and pushed him down or coated him tip to toe in spitwads, he'd sigh real big, brush it off, and tell me to back off when I felt like clocking you one."

Gerald walked to the door, intent on leaving her with something big enough to chew on, something to get her where they wanted her for the party. He needed Arnold and Helga to at least confuse each other enough to put the brakes on this whole thing. This much was necessary.

"After he left, years later, I was telling him about some shitty stunt you pulled our freshman year, I don't even remember what it was," Gerald lied. He remembered. It was written down. "And he started defending you like he always did. Guy's not seen you in five years, and he's still rushing to your defence against me, his best friend. So I ask him why."

Gerald put his hand on the door knob, fishing for his keys while he felt Helga's eyes riveted on him. He had her; time to chum the water for his shark.

"Arnold pauses," Gerald turned his head to look at Helga as he opened the door. "Then he says, 'Because we're orphans, Gerald. Together.'"

Gerald held eye contact with Helga. He saw the effect of the story in her big watery blue eyes. Maybe it was too much. Anything more would spoil the effort, he knew, so he shook his head and left the apartment, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

* * *

 

Mid-stride in a light jog, Gerald listened to the dial tone impatiently. Phoebe picked up right away.

"Gerald." She always answered his calls that way. He thought it was strange, but endearing.

"Pheebs, I'm doing it. I'm doing it!" Gerald could barely contain the excitement in his voice.

"I'm similarly excited to hear of your accomplishment, but if you enlighten me with specifics I will be able to share your jubilance."

"Helga, babe. I'm getting somewhere with her. I think this is going to work, I think we can get her to open up." Gerald turned a corner, his feet automatically taking him where his heart wanted him to go. Arnold was close. His pace picked up.

"That is exciting news, then. What method has produced results?" Phoebe sounded like she was busy doing something as well. The both of them were always busy these days; they had a lot to prepare for.

"Just talkin' about Arnold. And liberally peppering in tidbits about my private one-on-ones with the man over the years. She's so thirsty for details she practically let me get away with murder."

Phoebe clucked her tongue. He knew she didn't like that they were manipulating Helga like this. Their friendship was as close as his and Arnold's; closer even, as distance had only recently separated them. But if Gerald didn't push, the party would fall flat. Everything had to be precisely right.

"Well, I'm not too fond of some of your chosen tactics, but I cannot argue with results. Keep me updated; where are you now?"

"Running to Arnold's real fast. I got a break from practice, so I'm not gonna waste it." Gerald's pace slowed down as he turned the corner and came to street the boarding house was on. No use in winding himself with the finish line in sight.

"Good; I've actually been quite concerned that our over-focus on this plan has detracted from our ability to enjoy his return. The odds of our success are tenuous, as you know. I've been thinking, and I think you should try to genuinely enjoy spending time with Arnold as much as possible. The plan is important, but, your friendship is far more important."

Gerald was touched. He always did love that sweet, sensitive side of Phoebe. Over the years in their friendship and relationships she had always surprised him with the level of sincerity and compassion she was capable of. He actually stopped walking, feeling compelled to tell her so.

"Hey, Pheebs," he looked up at the skyline of the buildings, fondly remembering all the times they ran around on the roofs as kids.

"Hm? Yes, Gerald?"

"I'm really glad we got back together. I really like you." He felt self-aware of his own body, his free hand not occupied by the phone fishing in his pocket nervously. She didn't respond right away, but he heard her sigh.

"I'm especially pleased as well, Gerald. I'll visit tonight. We can finish this conversation later." Her voice held the promise of something he knew he would enjoy.

"See you then, babe. I'm at Arnold's." Gerald put the phone in his pocket, stepping up the short stairs of the boarding house. He hadn't been in the building in years. He hadn't seen Phil and Gertie since his graduation. He recalled with fondness how they had shown up, Phil in his brown suit half moth-eaten and patched up, Gertie in the profound robes of a judge with a powdered wig. He smiled at the memory. Arnold's family had always been dear to him, but things had more significance when Arnold was back around. Taking a breath to steady himself, he lifted a hand to knock on the door.

* * *

 

Gerald sat awkwardly at the kitchen table, watching Phoebe assist Lila in making the three of them a pot of tea. Watching Lila move around the kitchen in her wheelchair was still jarring to Gerald, a shock of sad tragedy and an anxious wall of hopelessness he hadn't been remotely prepared for.

Lila, for her part, was her typical cheerful self about the situation. She had agreed to meet with them with excitement, and encouraged them to make the trip out to her family farm as soon as they were able.

"I am just ever so sure that we three have a lot to talk about," she had cryptically hinted. Gerald was sure she was talking about Arnold in a cunning, roundabout way. It turned out that she was, although only tangentially.

Phoebe and Gerald made the drive to her farm a week after their initial strategizing session. Now officially a couple, the drive had been really fun. They listened to Kanye and gossiped and talked about Helga, but mostly they made up for lost time together. The drive was sweet, a pleasant memory he could go back to now when he was so uncomfortable.

He felt terribly guilty. He felt like he should have known this, he should have kept tabs on her, should have pressed Arnold for more information. He was supposed to know everything about everybody; not knowing that Lila Sawyer was now in a wheelchair, partially paralyzed in her legs, and selling the farm to go live with Arnold was a lapse in his responsibilities. A warm, sick feeling sat in his guts, and made it difficult for him to keep up pleasantries. He had said little. Phoebe noticed, making up for his silence with an over abundance of chatter. He wasn't sure which made Lila feel more awkward, but he could tell they were making her feel uncomfortable.

Lila rolled herself to the table with Gerald, sighing gently.

"I suppose you are just besides yourselves with curiosity. It's okay; you can ask." She seemed so patient.

Gerald looked at Phoebe. She seemed like she understood the pleading look he tried to give her, and spoke for them both.

"Gerald and I came to visit because we heard from Arnold what the two of you were planning," she diplomatically began. "We are a little surprised at your condition, Arnold made no mention of any injuries you had sustained."

"Ah, no, I don't suppose he would be any manner of eager to talk about it." Lila's smile was slightly sad. Gerald felt ill to see it. They would have to totally abandon their plan, he felt. He couldn't get in the way of this.

"Do you mind helping Gerald and I understand what happened?" Phoebe continued to be diplomatic.

"Not at all," Lila smiled sweetly, setting her teacup down daintily. Gerald could hardly believe she was the same plain girl he knew in grade and middle school. A lot had changed; beyond her injury, Lila Sawyer had grown up to be a rather voluptuous woman. She kept her auburn hair in a high bun, but had pretty, soft bangs swept over a forehead that he could tell was crossed with recent worries. She wore a green sundress, and Gerald could imagine no color more appropriate for her to wear. She was green in his mind, always, vibrant. Full of life's sweetness.

Part of him worried that he was romanticizing her injury. The rest of him couldn't deny what he was seeing: a beautiful young woman, that if he didn't know better he would call almost physically perfect.

"It was all rather silly," she began, looking down at the table in memory of things past. "When mama and papa passed in the flood suddenly, I was just terribly upset and alone. Arnold was ever so sweet and encouraging in his letters. When he proposed I visit, I was just ever so tickled and curious. Travel has always been just an oh so romantic dream of mine.

"He picked me up in Mexico City, looking rather dashing and tanned and seeming just especially worldly. I must admit Arnold has always been a special boy to me, but something different about him made him especially special then. It was easy to fall in love quickly with him, when he was so dashing and daring and sweet." Lila rest her cheek on her hand, looking into her teacup, fondly remembering.

Gerald could only imagine the shock of seeing Arnold as he was now after years of imagining a scrawny, shrimpy kid. Gerald had been floored to see him in photos, all tanned and strong and rugged looking. Lila must have been floored. Helga will be shocked, he thought. The plan returned to his thoughts, and he furrowed his brow as he listened to Lila tell her sad tale.

"We spent a few weeks in Bolivia, then Peru, and then he took me to San Lorenzo and I got to stay with him and Miles and Stella. His parents are ever so darling, but they were awfully prying into our affairs, Arnold's and mine. That's not to say that our affair had started then, in fact that started much later. After, well, you know." Lila glanced down at her legs.

We have to find out how far its gone. Gerald was surprised to hear that nothing had happened until after the accident. Phoebe glanced at him, apparently thinking the same thing.

"One rainy dreary day Arnold was out gathering plants for Stella, and his guide comes running into camp, just terribly upset and concerned. Arnold had slipped and fallen somehow, and was out on a dangerous outcropping of rock, unconscious. Without thinking I ran after him with the guide, leaving most of my safety climbing gear behind."

Gerald saw where this was going. The guilt piled on.

"And," Lila sighed, gesturing to her legs. "I was able to get Arnold to safety, but, I couldn't manage to make the descent myself without this mess. It's ever so embarrassing; I feel positively a burden now."

Phoebe put her hand on Lila's. Gerald felt awkward watching the gesture. Lila smiled at the two of them, another slightly sad smile.

"Immediately after the accident, Miles and Stella and Arnold helped me get back home for immediate treatment. The doctors say I'm lucky, I've only lost partial use of my legs, and with physical therapy I might be right as rain again someday. Stella even thinks there's a miracle cure somewhere in the jungles for me."

Gerald and Phoebe looked at each other. He was sure she was feeling the same level of guilt that he was; how could they have spent so much time planning ways to take Arnold away from Lila, when they knew nothing about this? He felt awkward and obvious in front of Lila, who still managed to seem graceful and dainty despite everything.

"Lila, we-" Gerald began, his voice sounding apologetic. Phoebe put a hand on his, and shook her head. He closed his mouth, and felt a swirl of confusion why she interrupted him. Phoebe turned to Lila, and started to speak slowly.

"Lila, we owe you an apology," she began, and Gerald watched Lila widen her eyes in surprise. "We made this trip only because we heard from Arnold an entirely different story, and our intention was to try to get between you." Gerald felt his jaw hang open. What was she doing? Was she still going ahead with the plan? He watched with shock as Lila processed her apology, looking at the two of them with an annoyed, puzzled expression on her face.

"You see, the curious, secretive nature of the manner that Arnold has chosen to disclose this news to us gave us great cause for concern. It is singularly out of character for him to remain mum on something so significant; in fact, it is my suspicion that a guilty conscience was the only thing that prompted him to tell us at all."

Lila blinked in surprise, folding her hands in her lap passively. "What does this mean, Phoebe?"

"It means, Gerald and I came here with the suspicion that his heart isn't in this. You can surely forgive us our suspicions, but it seems now that perhaps we were mistaken." Now Gerald had no idea where Phoebe was going with this. He watched Lila process the half-apology, the shock of the candid confession clearly affecting her. She was blushing in splotches on her neck and cheeks, physically affected by this assuredly hurtful news. Gerald wanted to get out of there fast.

Gerald jumped in his chair when Lila looked up at him with watery eyes and spoke in a calm, but quivering voice. "How did you intend to go about getting between us?"

"Wha? W-what do you mean?" Gerald felt himself stammer in a blank panic.

"Well, did you two have some sort of plan?" He thought he saw something in her eyes, something other than hurt. He peered at her, but Phoebe answered for him.

"We have a complex, multi-stage plan, designed to bring Arnold back to Hillwood permanently." Gerald whipped his head to look at Phoebe in shock again. He felt like he was merely a spectator in some horrible play, a Greek tragedy where everyone in the room would end up murdered dramatically. "It involves Helga," she added.

"Helga Pataki," Lila said, shaking her head and looking out the window of her quiet, quaint little farmhouse. "The woman of letters." Gerald heard more years of confusion, bitterness, and rivalry in those four words than he felt he would ever hear again.

Gerald wondered how much Lila knew about the letters, or what Arnold had told her. She knew more than nothing, which was enough to make him unsteady.

"Arnold spoke of her often, until the accident. In fact, Arnold hasn't been much of his oh so very charming self since then. I think he feels terribly guilty; it's why I don't think you're wrong." Lila looked back at the two of them with a sad smile. "I don't think his heart is in it either. It's difficult for me to accept that, but I can't very well ignore the obvious much longer. After all, I was the one that put the idea in his head."

"What do you mean?" Gerald had yet to hear the story for himself.

Lila sighed, flattening out the wrinkles in her skirt. "Arnold asked me not long after the accident how he could ever repay me. For saving him. And I was feeling just ever so frightened and lonely and homesick, that I asked him to always stay by my side. He took the request oh so seriously, and quite literally."

Phoebe nodded, sipping her tea. Gerald had no idea how she could drink so calmly as bombshell after bombshell kept dropping. "If you suspect that Arnold's heart isn't in it, why accept?"

Lila smiled bright and large, shrugging her shoulders. "Because I'm in love with him. It's what I want, very much so."

Gerald felt like that was an oddly selfish response from Sawyer. "Even if his heart's not in it?"

Lila shook her head, "No, not if his heart's not in it. That's...why I think you should go on with your plan." Gerald felt his stomach drop. How awful. He was going to try to tear a crippled girl's life-long love from her, at her insistence. It felt monstrous, an unthinkable sin against a friend. How could she ask this of him and Phoebe? Even if it was what they came here to do, he still wondered if he had the grit to do it.

"Lila, no offense, but don't you think it's a bit cruel to you? I mean, we'll be trying our hardest to take Arnold away from you. Forever." He had to be honest with her. He wouldn't be able to look at himself in the mirror later if he was anything less.

"It's awful, terrible, and extremely nasty of me to ask you to do this, Gerald." Lila scrunched her nose up, not bothering to hide her bitterness. Gerald felt it was a special violence she committed to turn this awful thing against herself, to command their guilt away and lash Arnold's albatross to her own neck. "But, if you do everything you can and he still comes home to me and we start our new lives in San Lorenzo, I'll be able to do it with a clear conscience. It will mean despite all that happened in his past, I am his future. I can't imagine anything ever so much more perfect than that. It would be a gift. So, I'm terribly sorry to have to make you do this, I am ever so awfully sorry. Consider it a selfish request from an old friend."

Phoebe sighed, and Gerald felt himself lump up a wad of emotion in his throat.

"I know what it seems like," she continued, "but I truly believe that I'm not always going to be like this. Arnold isn't convinced, and he just looks at me so sadly. It's ever so awful, and I simply can't bear it. If you're brave enough to challenge his heart on my account because I'm too much of a silly lovesick little girl to do it myself, I'll lean on you for help." Lila tried to smile at them, but a tear forced itself out of her eyes, and was quickly followed by more.

Phoebe held her hand, squeezing it hard. The three old friends sad there like that for some time, listening to the patient clicking of Lila's wall clock and the gentle outpouring of misplaced remorse. Finally, Phoebe cracked the shell of silence. "Then we'll do everything in our power for you. And for him. The odds are good you won't have him anymore. I suggest that you make the most of the time you have between now and his planned visit."

Lila nodded, wiping her cheeks with her fingers. "Ahaha, don't worry, I will. I have ever so many romantic plans for my Arnold. He won't forget this month." She smiled through her sadness at them, and Gerald had no idea how to feel.

"Good luck, you two. I hope he loves me enough that your plans go up in smoke. But don't you slouch on me. I want an honest man or no man at all."

Gerald clenched his jaw, nodding. "Don't worry, Lila. We won't. Arnold won't know what hit him."

Phoebe grabbed his hand for purchase under the table, and he squeezed it as hard as he possibly could. Their agreement was clear. It was their solemn duty to keep Arnold.

* * *

 

Gerald was wheezing in the bone-crushing hug, laughing between gasps for air as his surprisingly strong best friend tried to shake the life out of him in a massive embrace.

"Aiight, aiight! I'm dyin'! Lemme down!" Gerald laughed, caught off guard by the surprising strength and vigor in Arnold.

"Oh, sorry Gerald!" Arnold set him down with a big grin on his broad features, clapping his hand in a squeezing handshake and slapping Gerald's opposite shoulder eagerly. "It's really great to see you! How long do you have?"

Gerald pulled Arnold's handshake into their secret version of the same, waggling his thumb opposite Arnold's in their often-practiced way.

"Maybe thirty, forty minutes. Gotta gig to return to - frat house stuff." Gerald had not told Arnold about Helga's band, or his participation. That wasn't in the plan.

"Time enough! I'll get Grandpa, he's been dying to see you." Arnold strode quickly into the kitchen, disappearing for a second.

Gerald had time to look around the boarding house, remembering the unique smell of those old walls, the creak of the floorboards, and the strange, almost year-round dense humidity of the first floor. He flexed his toes in his black converse, momentarily remembering grasping the thick wool rug underfoot in the entryway with childish, bare feet. It was a good memory.

"Issat Gerald? Hooboy, lookit how tall he is!" Phil rounded the corner, walking with a cane but still shockingly spry for 91. Gerald smiled wide at his old friend, walking to shake his hand warmly.

"Grandpa Phil, it's wonderful to see you. Eat any raspberries lately?"

"Oh you know me, a Shortman can never stay away from the darn things. How's your cute little Asian friend with the glasses?"

"Phoebe is well, Phil. She's off at university now, but we just got back together."

"Ah, young love! It's a beautiful thing, just be careful or you'll end up a papa! It's what I've been telling Shortman here about his cutey in the chair with the big bazookas!"

"Lila, Grandpa." Arnold corrected his grandfather with a wince, an embarrassed smudge of shiny red on his very tan features. Gerald had to admit, Arnold looked like a sun god these days. Years of mostly physical labor out in the sun drenched equatorial jungles had given him a permanent bronzing to his skin, but in a way that lifted the impression of health and vigor to the surface. His easy green irises were ringed by eyes that had managed to grow little crows feet. His hair, longer than before, was roughly tousled and sun-kissed, crashing waves of almost silvery blonde highlighting within his normally golden straw locks. A thick, even field of fine, shining golden facial hair spread under his nose around his jaw, giving him a rugged and adult look. Gerald had done a double take the first time he saw his friend again, the transformation was that impressive.

Phil nodded, waving his free hand to shoo away the annoying business of remembering names. "Well, I'll let you two catch up. Pookie's got to have her afternoon herbal remedies." Arnold helped turn Phil around, and Gerald watched the wizened old man positively zoom off to go spend time with his wife. He hoped he was half as much in love with Phoebe as Phil was with Gertie.

Arnold was watching him too, though he had a much different look on his face. Concern.

"Grandpa's not getting around as well these days," he sighed. "I don't know what is going to happen if he falls again."

Gerald smiled at his friend supportively, clapping his shoulder. "I'm sure Phil's gonna outlive us all, Arnold. Let's hit your room."

Arnold nodded, leading them up the stairs. "You and Phoebe back together huh? That's great!"

"Yeah. It just happened. Bout a month ago. We're gonna make it work, distance or not." Gerald swung into Arnold's desk chair when they arrived in his room, Arnold closing the door behind them for privacy.

"I'm happy for you. I know it'll work out, some things are just meant to be."

Gerald saw an ugly opportunity. He remembered what Phoebe said, but couldn't ignore the chance to add power to the payload of their plan.

"Just like some things aren't quite meant to be, huh?"

Arnold smiled bitterly, nodding. He crossed the small room in three strong strides, flopping his body onto his small old bed with a defeated sigh and the protesting strains of a tiny spring mattress. "I really thought something would happen when I saw Helga again."

"You can't beat yourself up man. And it's better nothing did happen, right? Ain't you spoken for, and thoroughly now?" Gerald knew he had to tread carefully. Arnold was smart, and wise to Gerald's tricks. Most of them.

"It's complicated, Gerald, you know that. And besides, Helga just seemed off somehow. I can't put my finger on it."

Gerald rolled his eyes. "Mm, mm, mm! My man Arnold Shortman has got no idea the stupefying effect his Marlboro man looks have on the ladies, does he?"

Arnold scrunched up his round nose at Gerald. "Marlboro man? Helga wasn't stupefied by my looks, Gerald."

"Then she's blinder than when she April fooled you. I'm telling you, seeing you for the first time is a shocker, man. Girl wasn't in her right mind, or I'm not the coolest guy in Hillwood."

It seemed to make Arnold think. Come on man, don't be this easy, Gerald inwardly pleaded. Don't be this easy on me, after all our years. Gerald genuinely felt like he wanted Arnold to challenge him. Anything less felt like it was somehow ignoble.

"Maybe at first, though I doubt it. No, Gerald, she meant what she said. 'The past is the past,' that's pretty definitive. It's all the answer I needed, I guess."

Dangerous. Always lead him down the path to Helga by a leash, even when you point him away with your hands and eyes. Gerald changed his tactics. "What if you got a different answer, though? What if Helga G. Pataki, queen bitch of Hillwood, looked you in the eyes and said, 'Arnold Shortman, I am hopelessly in love with you and never want to be apart.' How could you HANDLE that kind of shock?! I'd croak dead on the spot." Attack her, force him to defend.

"She's not a bitch, and don't ever use that word, please. It's a nasty word used only to hurt women." Arnold sounded serious. Gerald was surprised, but remained passively attentive. "Helga's just like me deep down, we just express ourselves in different ways. I understand her, better than anyone. If she'd said all of that, then, I dunno. It would be different. But she didn't. So it's over, time to grow up and move on."

Extreme danger! "Move on to Lila, you mean. It must be nice, having that sweet thing on the side as a backup." Careful, Gerald, careful!

"Gerald, what's gotten into you?" Arnold seemed legitimately offended, standing up from the bed. "Why are you going after them like that?"

"I'm not man, I'm just saying what they are probably thinking. You told Helga about Lila, right?"

"No, not exactly. Not at all, actually," Arnold screwed his face up painfully at the memory of Helga in the coffee shop. "It just never seemed to come up organically."

Gerald put on a shocked face. "What?! Arnold, brother, you gotta tell her. She's probably thinking of ways to apologize and confess to you, man!"

Arnold's eyes went wide. Gerald watched his oldest friend process the memories of all the times Helga had initially pushed him away, only to warmly and sweetly help him or compliment him later. "Oh, fuck, dude. What if you're right?" Arnold turned to his friend, looking lost and a little bit overwhelmed. "She used to do that hot-cold routine all the time as kids. I didn't even consider that."

Gerald had the seed planted. When Helga collided with him at the party like a meteor, Arnold's heart would be softened enough to receive the blow. "That's some heeeeeavy stuff, Arnold. You got Lila wheeling around her farm house expecting your safe return; you can't be going back home to her with unfinished business in Hillwood. You gotta tell her at the party."

"The party? Helga's going?" Arnold sounded genuinely hopeful. It would kill Lila to hear the way he said that.

"Of course she is, man, girl's part of PS118. No way I'd dare exclude her, even on your account." And she is the lynchpin of the entire plan, Gerald mused.

"You're right. Even if Helga's planning an apology, I've got to tell her about Lila. And even if she isn't, she deserves to know. It's the right thing to do."

"Yeah, buddy, it sure is." And it's why you'll fall for the trap, old friend, Gerald thought with remorse.

Arnold was pinned to destiny by The Right Thing. His years as an orphan had moulded him in the opposite ways Helga's decades of parental neglect had shaped her; Helga had grown to know that nothing in life turned out the way you hoped, and that the only one who had your back was yourself, while Arnold lived rejecting the sadness of that reality, instead embracing the impossible dreams and hopes, and relying on the kindness in others he believed was always present beneath the surface. It's what made him so special. It's what let them do this to him.

Gerald felt a familiar bile rise in his belly, recalling the sour sickness he was left with after meeting Lila. Manipulating his best friend like this was the grossest, most callously vile thing he could imagine. And yet, he knew it was totally necessary, because even though Arnold was a good man, he wasn't always right. He would ruin not just his own life, but maybe two others, blindly chasing Rightness and ignoring the truth in his own heart.

As Arnold began excitedly retelling one of his exciting jungle adventure stories to change the subject, Gerald weighed the moral costs within himself yet again, carefully measuring the gravity of doing nothing versus following the plan. Even now, feeling sickened to his stomach, he knew the answer.

They would keep Arnold; it was the only way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Please leave a comment if you're enjoying the story so far.

**Author's Note:**

> So the journey has begun! Next chapter, we get to see things from a different point of view, from an old friend of Helga's.
> 
> Thank you in advance for any comments or encouragement you might give! I write for you, the readers.


End file.
